


Prince of Cats

by Lycaonpictus77



Series: Spooky ML AU [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Gen, lots of swearing, some violence, spooky ml au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycaonpictus77/pseuds/Lycaonpictus77
Summary: Part of thelastpilot's spooky au; Adrien is a cat sídhe thirsting to be a witch's familiar. He begins school with a full heart and an empty head, ready for some Learning--but as usual, things don't go according to plan.





	1. While the Cat's Away

There were a hundred smells in the small classroom, most of them magical. Some of them were foreign to him: the sterile tang of linoleum, the sharp but not unpleasant varnish on the wood, little human-made devices that crackled with mundane energy and smelled like heat and plastic and begged to be broken.

“May I help you?” asked the woman at the front of the class. She had a glamor on, but it didn’t disguise her scent—a salve on his overstimulated nose, warm and mossy. A cervitaur.

“Hey I’m uh—I’m new,” Adrien told her. He wrung his hands together in front of him, twisting his fingers and trying to control himself. There were bound to be other magical beasts in his class, and he didn’t want their first impression of him to be—well, a scaredy-cat.

“Oh yes,” said the woman, smiling reassuringly at him. “They told me you’d be starting today. My name is Caline Bustier. Class will start in a few minutes, so just have a seat wherever you’d like.”

Adrien bobbed his head in thanks, turning to survey the classroom. It was abuzz with activity, full of laughter and sleepy yawns. It was hard to distinguish individual scents, and even harder to control his nervous magic. He took a few darting steps forward, wincing a little when a few people turned to look at him. He had to remember to move like a person here—the aos sídhe had a suddenness to their movement that he’d more or less adopted over the years. He couldn’t flit or teleport in quite the same way, but his tendency to scurry had made humans exceptionally uncomfortable on his few short incursions into their world.

There was an empty seat in the front row, which his nose told him was unoccupied. On the other half of the bench there was a half-sleeping werewolf, whose head was buried in his arms, hat pulled low over his face.

“Excuse me,” said Adrien, as respectfully as he could.

The wolf said nothing.

“Excuse me,” said Adrien, a little louder. More people looked at him. He tried to seem confident and self-assured. The werewolf slowly raised his head, squinting at Adrien. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a pinched look around his cheeks that worried Adrien—it was clear he hadn’t been eating or sleeping enough.

“May I sit here?” he asked, indicating the empty seat.

The werewolf looked between his hand and the bench, still squinting.

“You sure?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I—if it’s okay with you,” said Adrien, shuffling a little and scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. The wolf watched him for a moment, then grunted and put his head back on his arms.

Uncertainly, Adrien slid onto the bench, setting his bag at his feet. When the wolf did nothing, he began to relax a little, pulling out his materials.

“What is that?”

Adrien turned to his other side. There was a girl with so many glamors on he almost thought he could see the magic shimmering in front of her, like a mirage. She was looking at his notebook with obvious scorn and disdain.

“My notebook…?” he asked, rubbing a thumb over the leather-bound cover.

“Why does it _look_ like that?” asked the girl. A sphinx, he realized.

“I—I made it,” he mumbled. “I thought it looked okay.”

“It looks like it was made by a hundred year old blind man,” said the sphinx, her lip curling in a sneer that made him think of bared fangs. He shrunk into himself, hunching his shoulders and fiddling with his pencil so she couldn’t see it. It was just a stick and some charcoal, and next to her fancy plastic instrument he knew it looked shabby as anything. His magic fizzled as his nerves grew, bubbling like a shaken soda.

“It’s one thing to put a stray in _my_ class, but a mangy one to boot—”

“Cool it, Chloé,” snapped a voice behind him. Adrien peeked over his shoulder to see a girl scowling down at the sphinx. A magic-user, but he couldn’t tell what kind from her scent alone.

“Looking to adopt, Marinette?” tittered Chloé, her sneer twisting into a delighted smirk. “Do you even know what he _is?”_

 _What I am?_ thought Adrien, looking between them in deepening confusion.

“It doesn’t matter,” huffed the girl—Marinette—folding her arms over her chest, “You can’t pick on new students every single time.”

“And here I’m looking out for your little fox friend,” drawled Chloé. “After all, everyone knows what cat sídhes do to souls.”

Marinette and the girl sitting next to her (who did in fact smell of foxes) both stiffened at this, and Adrien felt his heart sink.

Oh.

The soul-stealing thing.

He hadn’t really expected that to be an issue quite so early in the school year.

“I wouldn’t—” he began to protest, but he was cut off by Marinette, who was still glaring at Chloé.

“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated, eyes flashing. “We’re supposed to be peaceful at school, Chloé. He could snatch ten souls a day and it wouldn’t matter. Besides, Alya can take care of herself, and we all know you don’t actually care, so keep your gross opinions to yourself, okay?”

Chloé gave a very loud and forceful “ _Well!”_ but Adrien ignored it to swivel around on his bench and make eye contact with Marinette and her friend.

“I don’t steal souls,” he promised, very seriously. “I know it probably doesn’t mean a lot, coming from a cat sídhe, but—I really don’t.”

“I’m confused,” said the werewolf, pushing himself into a sitting position and blinking bleary-eyed at Adrien. His hat was pushed up at an awkward angle, and his hair was a tousled mess from where he must have been pressing it into his arms. “What the hell is a ‘she’?”

“Sídhe,” Marinette corrected, smiling at him, “they’re like, fairies. Kind of.”

“He just smells like a cat,” said the werewolf, gesturing at Adrien like he ought to apologize for it. As if he didn’t reek of dog.

“He’s a cat sídhe, so he ought to,” said Alya, laughing. “They’re just magic-users who can turn into cats.”

“It’s a little more complicated than—” Adrien began.

“And they steal souls?” asked the werewolf, now frowning at him. “Wait a minute—what kind of cats?”

“Black cats,” said Alya, grinning at Marinette, who was now turning pink for some reason.

The werewolf broke out into whooping laughter, slapping a hand on his desk. Adrien, growing alarmed, looked at the girls for guidance, finding Alya snickering and Marinette pinker than ever.

“The bad luck thing isn’t true,” he tried to explain, “I mean my magic is a little unstable, but it’s only really bad for like, cellphones and stuff—”

“No no,” said the werewolf, still laughing, “it’s not that, it’s just—Marinette is—”

“Nino!” Marinette cut in. The werewolf threw up his hands in surrender, chuckling to himself and grinning at Adrien in a way that made his heart swell hopefully. Maybe he could actually make some friends.

“What our lycanthropic friend was trying to say,” said Alya, dodging Marinette’s swipe for her face, “is that Marinette here is a witch. A familiar-less witch.”

“Oh,” said Adrien, turning even pinker than Marinette. “And black cats and witches are—y-yeah, okay. I see.”

He turned back around in his seat, blushing and trying to ignore Nino’s sly grin beside him. A witch, huh? Adrien had always wanted to be a familiar. It meant an end to his limited transformations, and much easier control over his powers. There were other ways to cheat extra transformations, but they all involved stealing and violence, which Adrien couldn’t bring himself to do in good conscience. Pilfering souls for a spare chance at turning into a cat wasn’t really his idea of a good time.

"Hey man,” said Nino, breaking Adrien from his reverie, “What’s your name? We’re gonna be sitting together for a while, might as well get friendly, yeah?”

Adrien blinked, looking down at the hand Nino offered. Friendly—friend? Did he want to be friends?

“Yeah!” he answered eagerly, seizing Nino’s hand with an excited fervor. “Friendly!”

Nino smiled, but didn’t say anything.

“Oh,” said Adrien, blushing again, “um, my name’s Adrien.”

“Nino,” said Nino, chuckling. “You don’t get out much, do you kid?”

“I’ve uh, lived kind of… underground, for a while? Okay, well. My whole life.”

“Underground?”

“Kind of,” said Adrien, shrugging. “Like—we—it’s sort of—an alternate dimension? But you walk out the front door and you’re just sticking your head out of a hole. Walk to your neighbor’s place, go out their front door, you’re sticking your head out a hole, except this one’s in Scotland. Sometimes you’re sticking your head out a tree instead. Or like, underwater. Always have to remember to ask where doors go. I nearly drowned once trying to go to a Halloween party.”

“So it’s kind of like the Nevernever?” asked Nino, smoothing out his hair and replacing his cap.

“Uh yeah, I guess,” said Adrien, frowning. “I don’t really know that much about it, I just—the aos sídhe usually call it Tír na nÓg, or sometimes when they’re talking to me specifically ‘the Celtic Otherworld’.”

“Celtic? You know we’re French, right? You know this is France?”

“France is Celtic too,” said Adrien, grinning, “but yeah, I know. They only ever call it that sarcastically anyway. We’ve been around way longer than the Celts. Way longer than this world.”

Nino shifted in his seat, apparently uncomfortable. “So like… how old are you?” he asked uncertainly.

“No one’s really sure,” said Adrien, wishing he could give a better answer, “but somewhere between thirteen and fifteen? My money’s on fifteen, personally.”

“They’re not sure?” Nino asked incredulously.

“Well time sort of runs differently, and—well—none of the ones who raised me really understand the concept of age anyway? So they didn’t keep track. To this day they’ll say I’m seven or nine just because they like those numbers best. Which, like—it’s cute, but also kind of annoying when you’re trying to fill out paperwork.”

“Right…”

Mlle. Bustier mercifully chose this moment to interject with the day’s schedule. Turning in his seat, Adrien dutifully recorded the times. A class for magic-users and one for those with animal transformations—those would be helpful. He was a little less enthusiastic about potion-brewing, but hey, he was here to learn. And make friends who weren’t incomprehensible beings thousands of years his senior.

Looking sideways at Nino, who was yawning so wide Adrien could see his molars, he felt like maybe he’d like it here.

 

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

 

As it turned out, the class specifically for magic-users was about halfway made up of students from Adrien’s homeroom. They all sat clustered together, so he took the only empty seat in the group of familiar faces, between Marinette and a girl named—Rose? He was pretty sure it was Rose.

It was the tail end of lunch, but he’d wanted to be early so he’d turned up ahead of time, to a surprisingly filled roster. They were in a different classroom, with benches that curved around the blackboard in a semicircle. Cases lined the walls behind and beside them, half cabinet and half display, showing off the strangest assortment of items Adrien had ever seen.

There was a stack of rocks, balanced carefully one on top of the other, an enormous broad-rimmed wizard’s hat perched atop them, a taxidermy specimen of what appeared to be a swan sewn to a rabbit, a full set of porcelain dinner plates decorated with delicate depictions of a witch diverting a flood, a claymore longer than Adrien was tall, a rope that looked to be made of human hair, the shell of a sea turtle, a jar filled with marbles, a cellphone from the early 1990s, a vase of flowers that were absurdly still alive, a toy dog with a missing eye, a boxset of Seinfeld DVDs from which season three was mysteriously absent, a magnifying glass, the desiccated husk of a grasshopper poised _below_ said magnifying glass, a diorama on the levels of the rainforest that had clearly been made by a child, a boathook, no fewer than eighteen sculptures of horses, a poster for a concert that had taken place in Canada in 2004, a marble bust of Caligula which had been decorated with bright blue eyeshadow, a bicycle whose frame had been twisted so violently its wheels were pressed side by side, a juicer, a Russian dictionary, a portrait of a dog wearing a full set of Victorian era clothing, a set of bells that ranged from the size of a tangerine to the size of Adrien’s entire torso, and so many other items that Adrien had to stop looking at them and try to control his magic, which was reaching out to this particular case (one of seven) with eager interest.

The cases were packed so full, in fact, that their contents seemed to have spread themselves across the classroom. There were garlands and baubles and specimens draped against the ceiling, pillows splayed against the floor, a teetering pile of books in the far corner of the room, and peculiar pictures and messages carved into the wood of the desk beneath Adrien’s fingers. Everything was chaotic and convoluted and charismatic.

This room felt older than his homeroom had—it wasn’t just the smells in it, either. The clutter and warmth reminded him distinctly of his third adventure as a cat; he had been inadvertently adopted by a mundane human, herself over 80, whose house had the same kind of interest and buzz to it. Adrien’s magic had never been more active than it was during his two week tenure with Auntie Malkin, but here in this treasure chest of forgotten relics it was all he could do to remain in his seat.

“Are you… okay?” asked Marinette, causing Adrien to jump so badly she recoiled in turn.

“Um, yeah, sorry,” said Adrien, his nervous laughter almost drowning out the words.

“You feel a little, um… keyed up.”

Adrien blinked at her. She was watching him cautiously, evidently concerned, one hand half-raised in supplication. Was he being that obvious? He had been staring into space sure, but he hadn’t been like, twitching or anything. Shit, was she a mind reader? That would be really awkward given his earlier thirsting for friendship. Wait, no, if she was a mind reader she’d know what the matter was already. Could she feel his magic? Or maybe—

“Adrien?” she prompted gently. She closed the distance between them, laying her fingers on his forearm.

His magic popped against his skin like a static shock and—quite abruptly—grew calm.

He sucked in a breath, staring wide-eyed at Marinette, who looked almost as surprised as he felt. Goosebumps rose immediately across his skin, even along his scalp, and his neck arched in an uncomfortably feline gesture.

“What just… happened?” he asked her, swallowing. He could still feel his magic, and he was still dimly conscious of the room’s distractions, but it felt… more peaceful, somehow. If his usual magic was a wildfire, this felt like curling up in front of a hearth. It was still warm and flickering and familiar, but the urgency was soothed, the constant ‘Hey! Listen!’ quieting to a mild awareness.

“I don’t know,” Marinette confessed. Keen interest glittered in her eyes, and she flexed her fingers lightly over his arm, as if she could repeat the effect. “One second you felt like a music box that’s been wound too tight, and then I touched you and you just kind of… stopped?”

“Can you, um—can you feel other people’s magic or something?” Adrien couldn’t even imagine that. He could barely get anything done with his own magic distracting him.

“More how people are feeling, really,” she said absently, “The more they’re feeling it, the easier it is to notice. You were like, emotionally yelling earlier. It just felt really overwhelming.”

“My magic kind of has a mind of its own,” he mumbled apologetically. “So do you, uh—do you feel other people’s feelings, or do you just kind of—read them?”

“Kind of both? I feel them differently than my own feelings, but when I was younger I couldn’t really sort out who was feeling what. If I was ever upset my dad would just make himself feel happy until I felt better.” She pursed her lips in a fond smile, looking from Adrien’s arm to his eyes and lowering her voice like she was telling a secret, “That still kind of works with certain people. Alya can snap me out of a nervous ramble faster than I can correct my butchered sentences.”

“Is that what you did to me?” he suggested curiously. “Like maybe—you snapped me out of it by pushing through the way you were feeling?”

She frowned, considering this.

“I don’t think so,” she said finally. “I was feeling worried about you, but you just went straight to being calm—and then surprised.”

“What happens when you stop touching me?”

They both looked down at her hand on his arm. She didn’t seem to know, either.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” she said, peeling her hand away. He almost stopped her, but by the time he registered her action it was too late—and everything felt the same.

Well, okay, his arm was a little colder, and his goosebumps were settling down, but magic-wise, he still felt more relaxed than he had since he’d started school.

“Interesting,” said Marinette, watching him like she was checking for side effects.

“So, um, that’s never… happened before?” asked Adrien, nervously rubbing his forearm as if he could coax more of the stilling effect into his system.

“Never,” she said simply. “I wonder if it was your magic, or mine? Or maybe the way they interacted? I haven’t really dealt with sídhe before, have you been around witches at all?”

“I mean, a few,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t really want to offend her, but it seemed important to at least hedge at the fact that they’d all been trying to kill him. “They were all kind of, uh… murder-y, though.”

“Oh,” said Marinette, frowning. Fortunately, she seemed more concerned than insulted. “I’m sorry. I guess that wouldn’t really allow for calming effects, huh?”

“Not so much,” he agreed, chuckling.

“Well, I promise not to try to murder you,” she said, very solemnly. “Barring, uh… mitigating circumstances.”

“That’s fair,” he said, laughing in earnest now. “I promise not to do anything mitigating. I meant it earlier about not stealing souls, you know—I take that stuff really seriously, I wouldn’t ever—”

“I know,” she interrupted, smiling reassuringly. “I can tell when people are lying like, a hundred percent of the time. It’s even easier than yelling-feelings.”

Adrien laughed again, and Marinette’s smile grew in response. “What if you like, uh—what if you ask somebody how they’re doing, and they say they’re fine, but they’re not fine? Does that set it off?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of like a polygraph, like it’s just… it gets more obvious the bigger the lie is.”

“I have no idea what a polygraph is.”

“Oh, well, uh…” Marinette began, “Yeah, I don’t know how to explain it. Boy, you weren’t exaggerating about that underground thing, were you?”

“I thought you could tell if it’d been a lie?” he asked, grinning.

“Hyperbole does not a lie make,” she answered primly, turning her head away in mock offense. “I thought you’d at least have seen like, a single tv show, in your entire life.”

“I’ve seen a bunch of Halloween movies,” Adrien confessed, “The aos sídhe and I go out every Halloween, ‘cept since I’m more or less human—except that one year I was a cat—I can go for a few days ahead of time.”

“Where did you even watch them?”

“I dunno, I’m pretty sure most of them were in Ireland, but who even knows, really—”

“No, I mean like, did you break into people’s houses or something?”

“Oh. Well, uh—we only went in the houses that were decorated, which is pretty munch an invitation anyway,” he explained, laughing nervously. “Almost everything was in English, though, which is why I don’t think it was here. People’re too preoccupied with la Toussaint to pay attention to what really matters—like me.”

She rolled her eyes.

Encouraged by her ill-concealed smile, he continued, “The aos sídhe who took me out tried to put on subtitles for some of it but they like—messed it up really bad? These poor tvs were just snarled into this unrecognizable tangle of static and closed captioning somehow layered on top of Spanish subtitles for a different channel—I’m telling you now, don’t ever give a fairy a remote. That poor family must have been baffled when they got home to that mess and a bunch of missing candy.”

“You guys didn’t think to magic up a French translation?” asked Marinette, giggling.

“Listen, Halloween is basically for the aos sídhe, and the aos sídhe do what we want, so—”

“So you _wanted_ to spend probably like an hour confusing each other with modern technology and then just leave?”

“Yes,” said Adrien, as seriously as he could.

She laughed at him, unrestrained and joyful, and he noticed how blue her eyes were. He laughed at himself too, and his magic rolled pleasantly in his chest. He found himself considering pursuing a contract with Marinette more seriously than he had a scant few hours before—sure, it was soon, but he’d never met a witch he got along with so well, and the sooner he got signed the better it would be for everyone. His errant magic had caused more than a few disasters, and without even being her familiar, Marinette had already managed to avert what was sure to have been one hell of a mishap. Now he just had to convince _her_.

He opened his mouth to launch into a desperately ill-thought out speech on the virtues of a cat sídhe familiar, when his attention was drawn to the front of the room. There was a very large, very alive owl, sitting on a podium and adjusting a microphone with its talons.

Even for Adrien, fairy-child, this was a bit strange.

“That’s M. Damocles,” said Marinette, noticing his confusion. She was still giggling intermittently. “He’s technically the principal, but he likes to handle this class himself since most of the other teachers either aren’t magic-users or are specialized to teach like, glamor or something.”

“Is he always, uh…”

“A bird? No, just when he’s been running errands. Or if he’s showing off for new students.”

The owl turned its head nearly 180 degrees and blinked at her, somehow conveying a stern and affronted scowl, despite having neither eyebrows nor a mouth with which to frown.

“You know we love you, monsieur,” said Rose, from Adrien’s other side. She sounded so sincere, too. She had been writing something for the entirety of his and Marinette’s conversation, but had now closed her notebook to smile beatifically at their strigine instructor. Marinette was smiling just as earnestly on his other side, but Adrien was too curious to work at matching their expressions, keeping his eyes fixed on M. Damocles as the owl was quite suddenly replaced with a very owlish man.

“I had to pop home for my reading glasses,” he grumbled, shuffling some papers on the podium and not looking very authoritative at all. He was a little portly, with an immaculately combed beard and a suit the same shade as his feathers. His legs seemed a little too short for his body, and he walked with a little waddle to his step as a result. He matched the eccentric room perfectly, and might as well have been perched in one of the display cases, blinking at them and trying to seem fiercer than he actually was.

Adrien liked him immediately.

“So,” said M. Damocles, peering speculatively at Adrien, “We have a new student today. I understand you’re a cat sídhe?”

“Uh, I am, yes,” said Adrien, blushing a little under the curious gaze of his new classmates.

“Raised in Elfame, no less! You must tell us about it, young man.”

Adrien blinked. He’d never heard of ‘Elfame’ but given the fact that he’d grown up in a realm no one seemed to have a name for, he supposed that’s what was meant.

“Well, it’s uh… it’s different than here. Things make more sense. Or I guess—less sense? It makes more sense to me, but I’m, you know, new here.” He winced as he spoke. He hadn’t really been prepared for this line of questioning. How did one explain the inexplicable?

“What is it about this realm that challenges you?” asked M. Damocles, so enraptured by Adrien’s response that he felt a little uncomfortable.

“I—I mean it just… everything stays so still all the time, I guess,” he said. “Doors always open to the same place, and pictures just kind of stand there. Roads lead you down one path. That kind of thing.”

“Ah,” said M. Damocles, “Yes, you see, Elfame is what is referred to as a liminal space—as the coast transitions from land to sea, or dawn from night to day, Elfame is caught in-between. It exists in a permanent state of flux, and its residents tend to reflect this. Time and space are not only perceived differently, they function differently. It is a plane of magic. The sídhe are themselves between pure magic and pure mundane, forces of nature bound to physical bodies, and the degree to which they are restrained is entirely dependent on their own actions. They are at once both and neither; for example, would you say that you are a human, Adrien? Magical or otherwise.”

“N-no,” said Adrien, shifting in his seat. Just thinking about it made him feel like he was wearing an ill-fitting sweater. 

“A cat, then?”

“No,” said Adrien, frowning thoughtfully down at his hands. He hadn’t considered this before. Reflection was for concepts, goals you wanted to reach, things you wanted to understand—he’d never considered that he might not understand himself. It seemed perfectly rational to him, and to be frank he was a little confused over what M. Damocles was even asking.

“So what are you, my boy?”

“I’m one of aos sídhe,” Adrien told him. “Adrien of the meadow carline, fostered at—”

“Yes, thank you,” said M. Damocles, hastily cutting him off. “What you mean is, you’re a cat sídhe, nothing more and nothing less, yes?”

“There _is_ nothing more or less,” said Adrien. “It’s what I _am,_ as the woods are wild, as the waters of the weir—”

“I understand,” interrupted M. Damocles, yet again. This time he seemed apologetic, though. Adrien blinked and realized he’d curled his hands into fists against the heavily graffitied surface of the desk, and his voice had been getting louder—it wasn’t that he’d been yelling, merely projecting. He’d been on the verge of poetry, which, while acceptable and in fact immensely popular in his own realm, was probably pretty weird in this one. He uncurled his fingers and gave M. Damocles a brief and gratified nod.

“Monsieur Adrien here is a liminal being. As Mademoiselle Bustier is neither a deer nor a human, she is also both. As she is a cervitaur, so too is Adrien suspended between—”

“Yeesh, what a windbag,” drawled a voice to Adrien’s left.

Adrien’s head whipped around so fast his neck stung, but all he saw was a startled Rose, looking down at the bench between them with her eyes even larger than usual.

Sitting on the age-worn wood was a black cat roughly the size of a badger. His right ear was split into a deep V, while the left was a battered mess. The tip of his dark nose and both raggedy ears peeked over the top of the desk, all pointed towards the front of the classroom, his avocado green eyes glimmering between with humor and interest.

“Plagg!” yelled Adrien. “ _What are you doing here?_ ”

The cat yawned—to show Adrien how little he cared, doubtless—and stretched, putting his front paws up on the desk. He sat back on his haunches and looked up at Adrien while he rubbed his face against the edge. “You forgot your lunch.”

“Lunch started an hour and a half ago!”

“Well—”

“And you very conspicuously don’t have anything with you!”

“Oops,” said Plagg, who (very conspicuously) did not seem sorry in the least.

“Excuse me; monsieur?” M. Damocles began, hesitant and demure at the head of the class.

Plagg rolled his head so the top of it was still pressed against the desk, looking upside down at the principal with the affected apathy only a cat can achieve.

“Yes?” he asked innocently.

“We’re in the middle of class right now.”

“Well _I’m_ in the middle of a conversation. You may continue your blathering when it becomes interesting, or at least more interesting than the wellbeing of my only kitten.”

“Adrien, is that your _dad?_ ” asked Alix, swiveling around and pushing herself onto her knees for a closer look. “I thought you said you weren’t a cat!”

“He’s not my dad!” Adrien protested immediately, blushing and waving his hands in front of himself a little desperately. “He just—”

“Just _raised_ you is all,” drawled Plagg, lips contorting in a Cheshire grin. “Just took you in and fed you and clothed you and taught you everything you know, is all.”

“Just turned me into a newt and left me in Tesco parking lot!”

“Okay, that happened _twice,_ how many times have I loved and cherished you, huh? How many years of my life have I spent slaving over a hot stove—”

“ _Zero,_ you don’t have opposable thumbs anymore, old man!”

Plagg rolled his face back over, sitting up a little straighter and fixing Adrien with a stern glare.

“Thumbs are overrated anyway. You haven’t even got a tail,” he said, lashing his for effect.

“Are you a sídhe too, monsieur?” asked Marinette, leaning forward around Adrien to get a better look at him. Plagg squinted and blinked as if he hadn’t noticed her before, and broke back out into his grin.

“A cat sídhe, mademoiselle—a cat sídhe. I may not be his father but I’m a pretty good look at Adrien’s future; though he’s a short-hair.”

“Plagg, I’m not going to use up my last transformation,” Adrien groaned, slumping forward onto the desk. Plagg reached up his paw and batted at a lock of his hair, in what might have been a comforting gesture if his claws had been sheathed.

“That’s what I said, kid. Besides, you’ve used up seven of your transformations and you’re barely nine years old—”

“I’m fifteen! Or close e-dang-nough!”

“Whoa. We’re in a school right now Adrien, watch your fucking language.”

“So wait,” Marinette interjected, “Plagg is one of the ones who raised you, and he got stuck in cat form, and now he’s in our classroom because you forgot your lunch?”

“That’s not really why,” Adrien grumbled into the desk, tilting his head so he could look up at her. “He just doesn’t want to come right out and say it. That would be too easy.”

“As old Chatty Cathy up there was saying, I’m both cat and sídhe,” said Plagg, licking his paw and swiping it over his torn ear. M. Damocles, who had long since returned to his podium, muttering, looked up and gave an indignant squawk. “Neither species is exactly renowned for being forthcoming.”

“I’m plenty forthcoming,” Adrien returned, “You just like being a cryptic jerk.”

“Hmm, true,” Plagg purred, “but this was awfully important, so I decided it would be best to let you know during school, and get the riddles out of the way.”

“It better not be ‘important’ like that time the humans next door got a dog and you wanted to move, because I _am_ trying to learn—”

“Nooroo is dead.”


	2. What Do You Mean School is for Learning

Adrien sat up.

“…What?”

“Deader than dead, as a matter of fact.”

“How can you be deader than dead?” asked Alix, leaning further over the back of her bench. She didn’t seem very concerned about the news, but Adrien supposed it was hard to take anything very seriously when a talking cat said it so matter-of-factly

“Well—” Max and Rose began at the same moment, stopping abruptly so that the other had a chance to continue.

“How can he be any kind of dead? He’s immortal!” Adrien demanded. Plagg met his gaze, uncharacteristically solemn.

“His magic was stolen.”

Adrien’s blood ran cold.

“What?” he choked, balling his hands into fists. His own magic boiled in his stomach, which had dropped so suddenly he was afraid he might lose what lunch he’d been able to scrounge up.

To lose one’s magic—to have it _stolen_ , was itself a terrifying prospect. But Nooroo wasn’t just a run of the mill fairy; he was a member of the Queen’s court, incomprehensibly old, immensely powerful, the embodiment of _dealán-dé._ That he could not only be beaten, but killed—what terrible creature could be responsible?

“That can happen?” asked Marinette to Adrien’s right. Her face was pale at the prospect, and she seemed to be trembling—or maybe Adrien was shaking so badly that _everything_ seemed to be trembling.

“Apparently,” said Plagg. “Though it’s never been known to happen to one of the aos sídhe. Much less one as high-ranking as Nooroo. There are few of us who could even dream of challenging him—that he should be killed without a soul knowing of it is troubling indeed.”

“No one knew?” asked Adrien. Growing up, it had always seemed to him that the aos sídhe knew everything. Plagg could certainly always tell when he was lying, or what he wanted for dinner, that kind of thing. He knew it was mostly a matter of being able to detect lies—much the same as Marinette could—and an innate connection to their realm that granted this pseudo-omniscience, but someone as important as Nooroo… Even Adrien should have been able to feel the effect such a death would have on the magic of their people.

“The Queen went by to speak with him and found his sídhe in ruins,” said Plagg. “And… there was a body.” 

A lightbulb popped overhead as Adrien’s magic flared. 

“Is she sure it wasn’t like—a cocoon, or…”

Plagg gave him such a flat stare that Adrien shut his mouth without finishing the thought.

“She hasn’t seen this method before,” said Plagg, “nor did she recognize their magic. But she said the imprints felt familiar.”

“What does that mean?” asked Marinette. She was touching Adrien's arm again, and he was grateful for it. It seemed to be consistent about quieting his magic, and it helped him to ground his emotions at the same time. Plagg looked back over at her, cocking his head.

“It could mean a few things,” he said, apparently considering. “Most likely that she knows someone with a similar… feel, to their magic. But it’s also possible that she met the culprit before they were magical.”

“People can gain magic?” asked Adrien, surprised.

“It’s just like any other science, if you know what you’re doing,” said Max from in front of him. “The proper instruments are required, of course. The chances of surviving any attempt to absorb magical energy directly are infinitesimal.”

“Like sticking a fork in an electrical socket to get lightning powers,” said Alix, flapping her fingers in exaggerated zapping motions.

“As pleased as I am that you’re actually learning the material of my class,” said M. Damocles with a pained expression, “I would like to hear more about the circumstances of this murder.”

“Ah, Monsieur Windbag,” said Plagg, hopping onto the desk. “What would you like to know?”

“What manner of magic did this Nooroo possess? Was there evidence of a fight?”

“An enchanter,” Plagg answered, “Not a trickster, but a persuader, certainly. A tongue as silver as an apple branch. He could grant any boon, any power, but there was always a cost.”

“I only ever talked to him a few times,” Adrien put in. “When I was a kid he tried to trade me my firstborn for more cat powers.”

“You almost did it, too,” said Plagg, frowning up at him. “He’s lucky you were too young for contracts, or I’d have skinned him then and there.”

“You’d have taken on another member of the court for me?” asked Adrien, a little touched.

“For your firstborn,” Plagg corrected with a grin. “I’ve a vested interest in corrupting that child, should you survive long enough to have it in the first place.”

Alix sighed enviously. “I wish _my_ grandpa was a talking cat. The one I’ve got is boring as hell.” Without asking for permission, she reached up to scratch Plagg behind the ears. The other students (except Adrien) froze, waiting to see if he would smite her or bite her.

He leaned into her hand with a purr.

“I’ll be your grandpa if you trade me your firstborn,” he said delightedly.

“Plagg, stop bartering babies, this is serious,” Adrien protested. The lightbulb above popped again, more urgently than before.

“Marinette, stop touching him for a minute,” said Plagg, breaking away from Alix and sauntering closer to the young witch.

“Plagg! She’s helping!”

Marinette, meeting Plagg’s eyes, slowly removed her hand from Adrien’s arm. The lightbulb made a sizzling noise and went out entirely.

“How do you know my name?” she asked evenly. Plagg smiled.

“I have a vested interest,” he replied cryptically. “Now: Do you see the white spot on my chest?”

Marinette broke their stare to look at the perfectly circular mark.

“Yes...”

“Touch it with the index finger of your left hand.”

She did.

The lightbulb stuttered back to life, which didn’t make sense to Adrien, because his magic was churning furiously everywhere around him. 

Plagg lowered his head until Marinette was scratching him under the chin, and she laughed, looking at Adrien, who was now pouting unhappily.

“What’d you do?” he asked his foster father/cat sourly.

“A containment spell. If you’re going to be a big drama baby then Marinette shouldn’t have to control you. It’s not like you’re her familiar or anything.” Plagg’s eyes glittered mischievously as he said it, and Adrien went pink.

“If you’re done embarrassing me,” he hissed through clenched teeth, unable to stifle his rising blush, “maybe you should go do something useful, like catch the murderer who might very well be coming for all of us?”

“Well, if this is the thanks I get for helping,” drawled Plagg, padding to Adrien’s side and rubbing his cheek against his charge’s shoulder. “Be safe, kitten. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.”

Adrien’s anger melted in the face of Plagg’s genuine concern; he wasn’t especially given to showing how much he actually cared, so the sincere sentiment was a (fairly touching) reminder that things were graver than Adrien could truly understand.

“You, too,” he said softly, smoothing the fur between Plagg’s ears with his palm.

The cat sídhe vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, and Adrien lowered his hand to the desk, deep in thought. Nooroo was dead. Plagg knew Marinette, but she didn’t know him. There were ‘familiar imprints’—oh, and _speaking_ of ‘familiar’...

He very deliberately avoided looking at Marinette.

He had a lot on his plate at the moment.

“Well,” coughed M. Damocles, looking around at his students, “I can’t imagine I’m going to be able to captivate your attention quite so thoroughly, so perhaps it’s best that we leave this lecture for tomorrow. You may all be excused, but do try not to bother the other classes with whatever you find to entertain yourselves.”

The students immediately erupted into chatter, gathering their things together and preparing to head out. Max and Rose were explaining various degrees of necromancy to Alix, who was bouncing up and down on her heels excitedly. Nathanaël didn’t appear to realize class was over until he looked up from his sketchbook (which Adrien could see was now filled with sketches of black cats, some of which seemed to be moving) and saw his classmates standing up.

That left only Adrien and Marinette from their homeroom group, and he swallowed before looking over at her. She was shouldering her bag, staring contemplatively into space.

“I’m sorry about Plagg,” he blurted, shoving his notebook into his bag more roughly than necessary. “I—he gets a little ridiculous sometimes, but he doesn’t—”

“I like him,” she interrupted, smiling.

“You like him?” he repeated incredulously. Her? The helpful and polite Marinette, liked Plagg, Professional Life Ruiner?

“He’s fun,” she said simply.

_Fun?_

“Maybe you _are_ an evil witch,” said Adrien, staring at her in muted horror. She just laughed at him, shaking her head and turning to leave. He scrambled after her, and took up a place by her side as they reached the hallway.

“You know,” he said at length, clearing his throat, “ _I’m_ fun.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Lie.”

Adrien winced.

“ _Other people_ think I’m fun,” he amended, muttering.

She waited.

“Well, uh—if—if you like Plagg because he’s fun, and I’m fun—I—what I mean to say is—”

“Marinette!”

Adrien and Marinette turned in unison to see Alya prancing towards them, a disgruntled Nino dragging his feet in her wake. Marinette lit up when she saw them, and met Alya halfway, taking her hands as they reached for one another. Alya immediately began to complain about whatever gym assignment they’d just had to complete. Adrien, trailing uncertainly behind Marinette, met Nino’s eye. The werewolf jerked his head off to the side, and Adrien met him on the other half of the hallway.

“You guys are out early,” Nino remarked, watching him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, we just… class just let out early,” Adrien mumbled, looking at his feet. Nino hummed thoughtfully, and was silent until Adrien glanced back up at him.

“When I first got here,” said Nino, “I was kind of a disaster. I’d just been turned, left behind my family, my friends—everything I’d ever known, you know? I was scared to come here, to be at a school with a bunch of monsters. I was scared they were gonna make me into a monster, too.” He stared thoughtfully into the distance.

“I’ve only been here a few weeks, but I don’t feel like that anymore. I mean, I’m still a disaster,” he amended, chuckling, “but I don’t think the other students are monsters. It can just be a lot, in the beginning. Dealing with everything, all the sights and sounds. The _smells._ But Alya told me something my second day, and it made me feel… not better, but… like I could do it, you know? Like I could make it.”

“What’d she tell you?” Adrien asked quietly.

“She said, ‘It’s okay to not be okay,’.”

Adrien looked at him then. The concern and honesty in his pale golden eyes, framed by the dark circles of exhaustion. His ill-fitted clothes and bare feet.

Nino wasn’t okay. He was pretty obviously going through hell, as a matter of fact, and yet he was still trying to help Adrien, and make him feel more comfortable. He was taking what little peace of mind he had and offering to share it with a complete stranger that as far as he knew, stole souls.

“Thanks,” Adrien murmured, reaching out and putting a hand on Nino’s bare shoulder. It was a gesture of comfort, both for Adrien’s gratitude and Nino’s own reassurance. “I’ll be okay soon. And so will you.”

Nino looked surprised at the sentiment, but smiled anyway.

“Aw look,” said Alya, suddenly closer than Adrien had thought she was, “they’re _bonding._ ”

“Alya,” Marinette scolded, following after her. Both girls seemed pleased at their interaction, though Adrien couldn’t imagine why—he hadn’t done much to make a good impression. Maybe they were glad the old dog/cat dynamic didn’t seem to be in effect.

“Hey, I have to spend the whole of next period with them while you’re off flying or whatever,” said Alya, ruffling Marinette’s hair. “Do you have any idea how annoying magical beasts can get?”

“I’m friends with you, aren’t I?” Marinette returned, laughing as she went after Alya’s hair with both hands. Adrien watched them with a building sense of affection. Even if he hadn’t done anything right, he’d done few enough things wrong that they were tolerating his presence, and the prospect of friends had never seemed so close. This was turning out to be one hell of a first day.

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

“Welcome back, everyone,” said Mlle. Bustier. “Now, today is going to be review for the test on Friday. You may choose between group review and completing the worksheet I’ve prepared, and after that, it’s free work time. As long as you’re quiet—that means _you_ , Alya.”

She handed a stack of papers to a man standing beside her at the front of the classroom, who was short and stocky and looked _very_ tired. He had a full beard and a slightly receding hairline, at the edge of which perched a pair of dark-rimmed glasses. The pale yellows and pinks of his dress shirt clashed against the ruddy teak of his skin, but what caught Adrien’s eye was the fang tied to his wrist, which looked suspiciously feline.

“Who is that?” he asked Nino, nodding at the man with a frown. Nino followed his gaze.

“Who, Otis? He’s like, the assistant I guess. Magical beast expert. Doesn’t really lecture but he helps out with keeping us operating safe and everything,” answered Nino. Noticing Adrien’s obvious discomfort, he smiled and thumped him reassuringly on the back. “It’s cool, man. I know he looks cranky but he’s actually pretty chill.”

“He did almost eat Kim last week,” said Alya, joining them at the front of the classroom for group review, “but if you ask me, he kind of had it coming.”

“Yeah, I mean, as long as you don’t mess with him he won’t mess with you,” Nino agreed, nodding as if that resolved the matter. “And maybe don’t challenge his familiar to a race like a certain reanimated douchebag.”

“Familiar? He’s a witch?”

“Uh, kind of?” said Nino, looking to Alya for help.

“He’s witchborn,” she informed them with a smile. “Word on the street is he made a deal with the sídhe, but I don’t know if I believe it—don’t think he’s charismatic enough. End result is, he’s like, some kind of werepanther that’s really into shapeshifting, his bff is a panther, and if you don’t want to be inspected like a museum specimen I’d keep quiet about the cat sídhe thing until he’s had time to adjust.”

“O-okay,” said Adrien, “Um, is the panther… here?”

“No, he keeps it at home I think. Turns it into a cat if they’re going out in the real world,” said Nino, shrugging.

“We’ve talked about that term, Nino,” said Mlle. Bustier from behind him. Nino huffed.

“Okay, fine, the human realm, whatever. You got me, Teach. Really driving that education home. But if there’s ever a test or something, I’m stickin’ with what I know! Reality is subjective, man—”

“She doesn’t like it when we say stuff like ‘real world’ or ‘normal people,’” Alya explained to Adrien, who was watching Nino, baffled. “It kind of sucks to be told by like, your peers that they still think of you as abnormal.” She toyed with a chain around her neck as she spoke, looking at the space behind Adrien as though she was addressing the empty air.

“Normal is bullshit anyway,” said Nino, snorting. “Knew that even before I got exiled to Funky Monsterland.”

“Nino—”

“It’s cool, that one was affectionate,” Alya interrupted, patting Mlle. Bustier’s arm consolingly. The cervitaur sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment before looking back up with her bright expression in place.

“Are you ready for review, Adrien?”

“Oh, I uh—maybe? What kind of um—”

“It’s okay, it’s nothing scary,” she told him with a warm smile. “Group review is to make sure everyone understands the material before we take the test. Since we take students in as they need we don’t really have a standardized placement test. This is just to make sure you’re not too far behind the other students.”

“Oh,” said Adrien, his whole body sagging with relief.

“We’re going to start out with the basics,” said Mlle. Bustier, gesturing to the students who had elected for group review. It was a surprisingly small group; only two other students joined them. One had the same vulpine quality to her scent as Alya, but her haughty demeanor and disdainful expression made Adrien feel a little nervous about her. She and Alya traded glares, and he got the distinct impression they were doing group review mainly to defeat one another. The other was a quiet boy with dark hair that seemed to be older than most of the other students, with a peculiar odor that Adrien couldn’t quite place. It shifted like sunlight filtering through leaves, covering up any information he might have gleaned about the boy’s species.

“What, uh—” interrupted Adrien, shifting, “What’s the test on?”

“Werewolves.”

Adrien’s eyes automatically flicked to Nino. He was grimacing, but met Adrien’s gaze with a resigned jerk of his head.

“Okay,” said Adrien. “What about werewolves?”

“Basic things, really,” said Mlle. Bustier. “Different types, abilities, that sort of thing. I believe the sídhe recognize more than one kind?”

“Yeah, there are three,” said Adrien. “The warriors, the workers, and the wild.”

“The workers?” asked Nino, blinking owlishly. Adrien smiled awkwardly at him. It felt weird to be talking about this right in front of him.

“Y-yeah, like—you know, the wolves who help lost travelers, and leave fish on the windowsill for hungry people, and keep kids safe. Worker isn’t really a good translation, but like… they do things to help other people.”

Nino looked flabbergasted.

“We’ve been sticking with the traditional divisions of ‘type, duration, and cause,’ so I might have you fill out the worksheet anyway,” said Mlle. Bustier with a kind smile. She was looking at Adrien with an affection that surprised him—he saw it mirrored on Alya’s face.

“See,” said Alya, elbowing Nino gently. He blinked down at her, still apparently surprised. “I told you it’s not all doom and gloom. If you keep reading about the werewolf trials you’re going to give yourself a complex.”

“I’ve already got a complex,” said Nino, breaking into a wolfish grin, “it’s called lycanthropy and it _sucks._ ” He turned to Adrien. “So you guys don’t go off like, whether or not they’re full wolf or some kinda freaky hybrid?”

“No, I think since we’re almost all shapeshifters it just didn’t make sense to classify that way,” said Adrien. “I mean, it makes sense to me—you shouldn’t define people by how much fur they sprout or when they do it. It’s more about what they do with their powers, you know?”

“Did the cat teach you that?” asked the dark-haired boy whose name Adrien didn’t know. He had a faint smile, and his teeth were worrying at a toothpick a little neurotically.

“Yes actually,” Adrien confessed with a laugh, “were you in my magic class earlier?”

“Yeah,” said the boy, smile growing a little larger. “You might not’ve recognized me though.” His face began to shift, his nose elongating, his eyebrows filling out.

Adrien stared.

“Théo here’s a shapeshifter,” said Alya, “like, the species, not the… ability to… shift?”

“ _Technically_ I’m a ‘Metamorphmagus,’” Théo clarified. His face was still changing, rippling like the surface of a pond. His hair grew shorter and lighter and suddenly, he was Adrien.

“Whoa,” said the real Adrien. He was still staring.

Théo’s smile had now grown to shit-eating proportions. “Pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah yeah, we’re all very impressed,” said Alya, rolling her eyes. Théo, still grinning, turned back to himself. “Now what was that about cats?”

“Adrien’s dad is a cat,” Théo explained.

“He’s _not_ my dad!” Adrien insisted, groaning.

“It would certainly explain your outfit,” the other fox-smelling girl put in unhelpfully.

“What about your outfit, Lila?” asked Alya, “Did your dad rob a Gap Kids?”

“Girls,” said Mlle. Bustier, sighing heavily and moving in between them. “We’re getting off-topic.”

“I for one would like to hear more about these fairy wolves,” said Nino. “It’s the full moon tonight and if I could like, go fishing or something instead of like, whatever the hell I usually do, that would be sweet.”

“It’s tonight?” Adried asked, surprised. “Do you have someplace you’ll be safe?”

“It’s not really _his_ safety you should be worrying about,” said Lila, lip curling as she sneered.

“Werewolves hurt themselves more than anything else, Lila,” said Mlle. Bustier, voice uncharacteristically sharp.

“It’s creatures like him that give the rest of us a bad name—”

“Like you can even talk,” Alya growled. Nino was shrinking into himself, pulling his cap over his eyes. “Kitsune like _you—”_

“Alya—” Mlle. Bustier interrupted.

“Kitsune?” asked Adrien, hoping to change the subject.

“Me and Lila are kitsune,” said Alya, glaring ferociously at her counterpart.

“Magic foxes,” Nino supplied helpfully. “Like vulpix and ninetales.”

“Like… what?”

“Nino, he grew up underground, I kind of doubt they had anime.”

“Oh my sweet summer child,” said Nino, cradling Adrien’s head like a football. “Don’t you worry. We’ll get that fixed soon enough.”

“If, um,” Adrien tried from Nino’s armpit, “if you don’t—have a place to go tonight—you could come to my sídhe? We have a patch of forest you can run in and um, I—y-you could show me this anime thing?”

Nino paused his jocular mourning for Adrien’s childhood.

“Really?” he asked dubiously, releasing the cat sídhe and raising one eyebrow.

“Y-yeah I mean, if—if that’s okay with you? I’ve never had a sleep over before, so—”

“You want to have a sleepover with a werewolf on the night of the full moon,” said Nino, expressionless.

“Yes,” said Adrien, wilting.

“No, I mean—I’m down, I just—are you gonna be safe?” Nino asked awkwardly. Alya elbowed him again, a little harder than before.

“Yeah!” said Adrien, lighting up. “Yeah, super safe! And we’ll make sure you are, too.”

“Cool,” said Nino, trying to hide his smile with the back of his hand. “Yeah, cool, okay.”

“We’ll see about that worksheet tomorrow, I suppose,” said Mlle. Bustier, watching them and looking absolutely delighted.

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

The rest of the day flew by for Adrien, who was practically vibrating with excitement. It was lucky Plagg had put that containment spell on his magic, or he was certain he’d have taken out no fewer than eleven light fixtures, and countless cellphones. He’d made a friend! He was having a friend over!

It wasn’t that he’d never had people over (in a loose sense of the word people) but the prospect of entertaining someone _his age,_ and forming a relationship that wasn’t structured like a five year loan? It was incredible.

All through their potions class, Adrien bounced in his seat and fidgeted with jars of hens’ teeth, nearly spilling a vial of something that smelled _very_ strongly of vinegar all over his notebook. Marinette, who was again sitting beside him—this time to his left, sandwiched between him and Alya—had only caught it with reflexes he was mostly certain were magical.

“You okay there, Figaro?” asked Alya, leaning over her already-completed sleeping potion so she could see him around Marinette.

“Oh—yeah, I just—wait, Figaro?”

“She’s teasing you,” Marinette explained, smiling and rolling her eyes at the kitsune.

“Oh!” said Adrien, grinning. “Oh, cool! I’m sorry, I’m just—I’m really excited? I’ve—well, I haven’t ever had a sleep over before. It’s going to be really fun!”

“So you like Nino, then?” Marinette asked. There was something strange in her tone, but he couldn’t decide what—it was almost accusatory. But that couldn’t be right, could it? She liked Nino, too. And even if Adrien increasingly wanted to be her familiar, he wouldn’t forsake his new friend for her—especially since she’d know he didn’t mean it.

“Yeah,” he told her honestly, trying to open himself up as much as he could, to make it easier to feel how happy he was, how great today had been for him. Plagg’s containment charm dissipated like a soap bubble as Adrien accidentally spread his magic too evenly. _Oops,_ he thought to himself, mentally shrugging it off. The day was almost over anyway.

Marinette met his earnest stare and noticeably relaxed, her smile growing wider and more sincere. She stirred her potion in a satisfied way, looking down into her small cauldron and humming.

“We like him too,” she told Adrien as she stirred, blowing on the spiral of steam that rose slowly from the surface. “A lot of people here can be weird about adjusting from their preconceived notions of like, what a certain species is supposed to be like. That’s kind of the whole point of this school—getting rid of those stereotypes.”

“Like about cat sídhe stealing souls?” asked Adrien, fiddling with his mixing spoon.

“And kitsune being untrustworthy liars,” said Alya, nodding.

“There are… a lot of negative stereotypes about werewolves,” Marinette explained hesitantly. “Nino is a good person, and it’s important that people understand that—at least, it’s important to us.” 

“It’s important to me, too,” Adrien said seriously. He didn’t know many stereotypes about werewolves, in all honesty—they rarely came up, and it had always been specific wolves rather than a general thing. “I like Nino, and I’m really excited to hang out with him. I won’t hurt him or anything. Uh, at least not on purpose. I might accidentally fry his headphones or something.”

“Good,” said Marinette, nodding resolutely.

“Guess we don’t have to kill you, then,” said Alya, laughing. “Though we might have to anyway if you do fry his headphones. He loves those things.”

“Why are your guys’s promises not to murder me always conditional?” asked Adrien, groaning. He wafted some of the steam from his cauldron a bit nearer, checking that it was steeping correctly. He had begun the lesson by copying Marinette’s movements, but she seemed to rely more on her eyes than her nose, so he found himself winging it, trying to match her potion rather than her actions.

“We’re dangerous ladies, Adrien,” said Alya, playing with her leftover ingredients.

“Dangerous and very serious,” Marinette agreed with a giggle as Alya picked up a sprig of rosemary and laid it between her nose and lips, pouting slightly to hold it in place like a mustache.

“Hey Marinette look, I’m your dad,” Alya mumbled around her rosemary mustache, adding a second sprig. She dropped her voice an octave, leaving it comically deep. “What are you doing to this poor cat, young lady. Don’t make me ground you.”

“We were making sure he won’t hurt Nino, Papa,” said Marinette, playing along without a moment’s hesitation. “We didn’t even hex him.”

“Wait, is that what you were doing?” Adrien interrupted, surprised. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Never hurts to check,” said Marinette, unapologetic.

“She was like this with me and Nino, too,” said Alya, still in her low impersonation of Marinette’s father. “She decided she liked us and vowed to protect us, et cetera, et cetera. Any new student has to be subjected to the Marinette Gauntlet, to ascertain their moral character.”

“… Did I pass?”

“So far,” said Marinette, smiling at him with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“She may still forgo vowing to protect you,” said Alya. “Passing the ‘not a shit person’ test doesn’t guarantee the full Marinette experience. Personally, I find it helps to be delightful at every opportunity.”

“Alya, she likes Plagg. That is an ankle-high bar.”

“Well, maybe you could stand to be a bit more like Plagg. From what I hear he’s something of a delight himself.”

Adrien spluttered indignantly. “Don’t compare me to that cheese-guzzling monstrosity!” he protested.

“Adrien, you have to eat more cheese. It’s the only way to get Marinette to love you,” said Alya, grinning so wide the rosemary fell off her face.

“Oh, he’s not a monstrosity,” said Marinette, scooping up a vial of her potion to present to the teacher at the end of class. “He’s a big sweetheart, and he loves you.”

“Okay, have _you_ ever been turned into a newt in a Tesco parking lot? Because it’s a lot scarier than it sounds!” said Adrien, throwing his hands in the air.

“You have a lot in common with him, too,” Marinette went on, leaning her face on one hand and smiling at him. “You’re both very dramatic.”

“I—! You—! No!”

“Way to prove her wrong, champ,” said Alya, shooting him a thumbs up.

“ _All_ of the aos sídhe are dramatic!” he insisted. “I didn’t learn it from Plagg!”

“He really is worried about you,” said Marinette. “What did he say when you asked if Nino could come over?”

Adrien blinked.

“Oh no,” groaned Alya.

“You’re supposed to ask?” Adrien confirmed nervously.

“Well, I don’t know how they do things in Fairyland but most places, yeah, you have to ask.”

“It’ll be fine,” said Marinette, though she didn’t look terribly convinced. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“You can’t just invite a werewolf over for a sleepover on the full moon without okaying it with your parent or guardian, dude!” said Alya. “Just because you don’t buy stereotypes doesn’t mean he doesn’t. What if he’s weird?”

“He’s always weird!” said Adrien, beginning to panic. He’d never actually wished he had a cellphone before. It would be really nice to have a way to call home. His magic began to roil, and the contents of his cauldron lurched abruptly. “Oh god he’s going to do something to ruin my life, oh my god. Oh no.”

“Adrien, no,” said Marinette, touching his shoulder. “He won’t. Why would he?”

“Because he thinks it’s funny,” Adrien groaned, burying his face in his hands. He tried to focus on taming his magic; Marinette’s contact helped significantly, but Plagg was right. He had to get better about this. It was only his first day.

“I mean in his defense, this is a little hilarious,” said Alya. “It’ll be fine—Nino’s cool, you’re cool—”

“I’m cool?”

“Don’t make it weird, dude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dealán-dé, for those of you finding yourselves thinking, "Clare, what the fuck," or something to that effect, is an archaic--and I do mean archaic, people will laugh at you if you use this--term for butterfly in Irish. 
> 
> Yes yes I know they're French but look, the aos sídhe are Celtic and I'm Irish so I do what I want 
> 
> Anyway it translates literally to "lightning of god(s)" (ostensibly; it IS archaic so like, take that with a grain of salt). Déalan is also a burning ember, and some translate déalan-dé as "god's fire" because of this. As a verb it means the whirling of a stick, the end of which is lit--like if you've ever drawn in the air with a sparkler or a piece of firewood, you know. 
> 
> In Ireland in the 16th century, white butterflies were said to be the souls of dead children. Let me tell you, akuma get a lot freakier if you think about that too hard


	3. Let the Wild Rumpus Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [flicking the lights on and off] welcome to sídhe!!! welcome to sídhe!!!

“So you want me to just hold your hand and accept that you’re going to magically transport us somewhere?”

“Not _somewhere,_ everywhere!”

“Everywhere,” Nino repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going to transport us to _everywhere._ ”

“And nowehere, and anywhere—ah, Nino, it’s great! It’s the most wonderful place you can imagine!” Adrien exclaimed, grinning dreamily.

“And the most terrible, I take it,” grumbled Nino.

“And everything in between!”

They were standing on the steps of the school, Adrien running back and forth excitedly, his movements sharp and unrestrained in his excitement. Nino was clutching an overnight bag and grimacing at the students who were still trickling out of the school. Alya and Marinette had left while Nino was packing, but had wished both parties luck.

“I need you to run me through this again, man, this is getting a little too abstract for me.”

“Sorry,” said Adrien, appropriately abashed but still grinning. “We’re going to my sídhe.”

“I thought _you_ were a sídhe.”

“Well I’m a cat sídhe but— that’s not really what sídhe means,” said Adrien. He stopped running around, pausing a few steps below Nino. “Sídhe just means ‘mound,’ you know. The barrows, the kurgans, the tumuli. They’re all ours.”

“So you’re just like—what, a ‘mound cat’ or something?” asked Nino, smiling down at him.

“Yep!” chirped Adrien, beaming. “My sídhe—well, Plagg’s technically, I guess—is just like… sort of a pocket dimension? It’s tied to other pocket dimensions, which is how we have neighbors and such, and we’re all connected to the realm as a whole. On this plane it’s a mound of earth, but in ours it’s as big or as small as we want.”

“A bunch of monsters living in their own little pockets. You’re pocket monsters.”

“Uh—I guess?”

“No, no, that’s great,” said Nino, laughing delightedly. “Just wrapping my head around this. It’s like a pokéball, except you can go chill in other people’s pokéballs. I got you.”

“Okay,” said Adrien, more than a little confused but mostly just happy Nino seemed to be happy. He held out his hand. “It’s really easier to explain if you’re there, you know.”

“Oh god, alright,” groaned Nino, reaching out and taking it. His hands were warmer than Adrien’s, a little clammy, and humming with magic. It was strange how easy it was to tell the difference between different kinds of magic—Nino’s was almost electric, running like a current under his skin. Adrien smiled a little wider, tightening his grip. It was like putting his hand on a computer monitor, except he was much less likely to accidentally break something.

“Here we go,” he said brightly, his own magic snaking across both of them, wrapping them up and curling through the air around them until it melted away, solidifying a moment later as the familiar walls of Adrien’s sídhe.

Nino’s eyes were squeezed shut.

“Hey,” said Adrien, jiggling their joined hands, “we’re here.”

Nino opened one eye a crack, then the other, blinking.

The main room of the sídhe was a dome, the ceiling a little shorter than their homeroom’s. The walls were entirely stone, whole and unworked pieces stacked intricately into elaborate spirals and diamonds, woven together at the gentle slope in the center. A single door was set in the wall, made of dark oaken bogwood, the three posts so uneven that the lintel slanted noticeably to the left. The handle was a burnished silver, adorned with an intricate carving of three cats, their tails winding down the narrow edge.

The space was dominated, however, by a huge, gnarled tree trunk that lay on its side, a great tangled nest of roots pointing at the door. A bench had been carved into the side of it, delicate knotwork lacing across the sides and front, leaving the seat smooth and yielding, though it was covered with soft cushions, all deep green and smelling as strongly of earth as they did of cats. The tremendous bench was facing a deep stone hearth, upon which a peat fire was burning unattended, and a large black cauldron sat quietly away from the heat. A circular rug, woven with similar spirals and cats as the walls and bench, lay before the fire, and a smaller, rougher rug sat before the door. The floor was flat stone, but was always warm to the touch, and was here and there carpeted with moss—particularly towards the edges of the wall, where it grew thick enough that patches of clover forced their way up through the vegetation, growing towards the sky they couldn’t see.

                There wasn’t much in the way of furniture (a few stools at the head of the tree), but there were a tremendous number of shelves built into the twisting walls, all packed full with books and jars and little baubles and trinkets. The ceiling was full of hanging plants and cured food, and seemed to glow with a pervasive light. Little motes, almost fireflies, danced among these dangling sundries, pulsing and twinkling like the embers of the fire below.

In the space behind the bench, Nino looked around the sídhe, gaping, while Adrien looked between him and the various fixtures with a wide grin.

“How is it so bright? Aren’t we like—I mean, you said we were underground, right?” asked Nino after a long minute, swallowing. “Wait, don’t tell me: Magic.”

“Magic,” Adrien agreed, grin widening even further.

“Adrien, thank god,” came a muffled voice, echoing slightly. “I’ve been stuck in here for hours.”

Nino jumped, head whipping around to try to find the voice, nervously clutching his bag to his chest. Unable to locate the source, he looked to Adrien, who patted his shoulder reassuringly.

“Hey Plagg, my day was great, thanks for asking,” said Adrien, looking first up into the twisted roots of the tree, then moving along the walls, peering behind the shelves.

“Yeah great how was school yadda yadda, get me _out,_ I’m _starving_.”

Adrien laughed, crossing to the cauldron hanging beside the fireplace, peering inside.

“Looks like we’re having _cat_ serole for dinner, Nino!” he called gleefully over his shoulder. Nino trailed a little behind him, laughing a squeaking, anxious laugh. He looked more curious than scared, but Adrien supposed it was difficult to not be a little anxious under the circumstances.

“You won’t be having _anything_ for dinner if you don’t get me out of here _right now_ you little—”

Adrien scooped Plagg out of the cauldron with both hands, immediately transferring his weight to the crook of one arm. With his free hand he scratched the cat sídhe under the chin, and Plagg’s threats melted into a loud, rattling purr.

“Is it okay if my friend Nino stays here tonight?” asked Adrien, as Nino came slowly around to look at his other host. Plagg’s eyes, which had been closed in appreciation of the petting, opened a slit, one wider than the other. He looked Nino up and down, then broke into a grin, wriggling out of Adrien’s grasp and dropping to the floor, conspicuously silent for a creature his size.

“I suppose so,” said Plagg, rubbing against Nino’s legs, his long, fluffy tail held high. “If you’re going to use the forest, look out for the deer. I may have lost a bet and promised no shenanigans for three weeks.”

Nino, who looked more surprised at the warm welcome than the talking cat, started at this. “What, like, actual deer? Not cervitaurs or enchanted kids or anything?”

“Actual deer,” Adrien confirmed, setting his bag in front of the bench. “Plagg has a weird thing for leucistic animals, and his little collection turned into a pretty impressive herd.”

“It’s not weird,” protested Plagg, pausing in his winding around Nino’s ankles to stare indignantly at Adrien. “White deer are marvelous creatures. And, _usually,_ terrible gamblers. I’ve made a fortune off those numbskulls. Besides, they do good work.”

“The deer… work?” asked Nino weakly.

“Well,” said Plagg, grinning up at him, “it’s bad luck to kill a white deer, and it just so happens I deal in bad luck. I send them out into the human realm, they stand as a sort of test, and in the mean time they find me information. You’d be surprised how good deer can be at listening to gossip.”

“Wait, so you just like—send them out to die?” Nino asked uneasily.

“Oh no, no,” said Plagg. “I did in the beginning—we had a deal, they could come and live in my sídhe and be granted magic, food, safety—and I would send them out when the time came. They were all pretty excited about it actually—they don’t really have great survival rates in the wild, and the idea of not having to worry about it at all until you’d had time to make your peace with it appealed to a lot of them, even without all the other perks.”

“What changed?”

“Ah, well—you give a deer some magic, raise it in a sídhe, give it a magical destiny—all of a sudden their offspring are being born with all kinds of little gifts and quirks and before you know it, they’re all immortal. At least as far as mundane causes are concerned, which is another reason not to go bothering them tonight—you don’t really need the bad luck,” said Plagg. He looked Nino up and down again. “I’d say you’ve had enough already.”

“Oh,” said Nino, not really knowing what else to say. Plagg headbutted his shin, purring, and he smiled down at the cat sídhe with genuine affection. Adrien grinned at the sight of it.

“I hope you like salmon,” he said to Nino, heading towards the door and gesturing for him to follow. “We could have something else, but it’s Plagg’s favorite and he’s had a pretty stressful day.”

“ _I’ll_ say!” Plagg interjected, hopping onto the top of the tree bench and picking his way across the trunk until he reached a blanket draped across the roots. He burrowed within it, grumbling something about ‘murder’ and ‘stuck in cauldrons’.

“Haha, yeah man, salmon’s cool,” said Nino, following Adrien. He was finally starting to relax. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you guys are into fish.”

“Maybe next time I’ll make you some weedrat stew,” Adrien joked, opening the door.

“Maybe next time I’ll bring some poptarts.”

“Pfft. Chicken.”

Adrien’s room was not as striking as the rest of the sídhe. It was dome-shaped too, though significantly smaller, but the stone walls had been plastered over and painted with crude representations of the aos sídhe, set against a deep green background that grew darker and bluer as it lifted to the ceiling, culminating in a series of constellations Adrien knew for a fact weren’t astronomically accurate.

In the center of the room, stretching up to meet the ceiling, he had built a tower of sorts; little more than a stubby turret, plastered and painted in the same fashion as the surrounding walls, a supporting column that served no actual architectural purpose. The mural on the pillar had been made to resemble a tree, covered in moss and lichen and tiny dance sprites. At its base, actual moss grew up around the stones, which Adrien tended carefully. He could never get the moss in his room to grow as thick or as consistently as Plagg could in the rest of the sídhe—he supposed it was a matter of inexperience, but it wasn’t something he knew how to learn.

What little furniture there was he had modeled after brief perusals of human rooms and magazines, which left him with an eclectic jumble, clustered together in the southernmost section of the room. He had a rounded, three-tiered desk, packed to the brim with things he enjoyed, ranging from smooth rocks to a circuit board he’d found down by the river that looked as if it had been chewed on. Adrien touched a dangling necklace as they came into the room, a simple adder stone tied with a leather cord. He had wanted to bring it to school today, but Plagg had persuaded him to leave it behind.

“So, um—what do people usually do at sleep overs?” asked Adrien, clearing his throat a little nervously.

“You’ve gotta stop saying it like that, man,” said Nino, looking between Adrien’s artifacts and a literal pile of framed Jagged Stone posters that made it look like the den of a gang of art thieves.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s two words, like ‘sleep over,’ like… it’s just, it’s only one word.”

“Sleep over?” said Adrien. “Sleep over. Sleepo-ver.”

“Almost, man, almost,” said Nino, laughing. “Like really, just—sleepover. Say it after me, sleepover.”

“Sleepover?”

“Yeah!” said Nino, thumping him on the back. “See, you got it.”

Adrien tried not to preen. “So what do people usually do at sleepovers?” he asked, hiding his smile behind his hand.

“Oh well—it depends I guess,” said Nino, setting his bag down beside the turret. “I mean me and my friends usually just watched movies and talked, you know. Eat some pizza, play some video games. You just have a good time.”

“Can we watch that thing you were talking about earlier?” asked Adrien, brightening.

“What, Pokémon? Dude, of course.” Nino grinned, stooping beside his bag and pulling out a battered laptop. “This place isn’t gonna like, blow up the computer or anything, is it? I borrowed it from the library.”

“No, my magic isn’t as, uh—erratic, here.”

“Why not?” asked Nino, looking around for a place to sit. Adrien gestured to a hole in the turret, sculpted into the shape of a hollow, which revealed his bed. It was more of a nest than anything, a pile of pillows and blankets churned together atop an enormous green cushion that matched the couch in the main room.

“Well, it’s like—you know, it belongs here. My magic is connected to this realm, so being out of it makes it—me?—a bit edgy,” Adrien explained. He kicked off his boots, diving through the mouth of his bed, and made himself comfortable as Nino followed suit.

“So why go to monster school, if it’s just gonna stress you out? Seems like you already know more about werewolves than I do—although I guess that’s not saying much.”

“Not more,” Adrien disagreed, frowning, “just… different. I think that’s the real advantage of the school, as it exists now—giving us a different perspective. I don’t want to say unbiased—nothing is really unbiased—but it’s like… it makes you look at things from an angle you hadn’t considered. Plus, you get to actually meet and interact with other magic users, other magical creatures!”

“Had you not met a lot of others, before?” Nino asked curiously, pulling a pillow across his lap and situating the laptop on top of it, so the battery wouldn’t overheat his legs. “I mean granted I’m still pretty new at this stuff, but I always kinda figured if you were magic your whole life, you met other monsters like, constantly.”

Adrien shook his head ruefully. “No, it was pretty much exclusively the aos sídhe. I met a few others, in passing—witches especially—but around these parts it’s just us and the occasional enchanted prince on a quest.”

“I—how many princes are there that get enchanted?”

“Not many these days,” said Adrien, “but our realm exists outside of linear time, remember. It does what it wants, and we do as we will.”

“You were talking about that earlier,” Nino recalled. “When you didn’t know how old you were. How is it that you’re able to age at all? Do you like, uh, decide? Is it just like ‘hey I feel more mature today,’ and then presto, you’re older?”

“Well kind of,” said Adrien, grinning. “It’s more like—I’m tied to the human realm too, so our realm tries to accommodate me in terms of years, and stuff. I’m as old as I would be if I had lived my whole life in your world. Might even be a bit _too_ mature for my age, frankly. I still feel like a child when I interact with… well, anyone.”

Nino hummed noncommittally as he found the appropriate video. “If everyone you know is like six thousand years old, I don’t think that’s too surprising.”

“With you guys too,” Adrien admitted. “I feel like everyone else has had so much time to figure things out and learn how to make friends, and be… a person. I feel like I won’t be able to catch up.”

Nino stilled, his hand hovering over the mouse button.

“I feel like that too,” he said quietly. “More like—you all know so much about monsters and magic and shit, and I’m… I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know who I am anymore. Or _what_ I am. Like I’m a person, but I’m a wolf—am I both? Am I two at once, or halfway between?”

Adrien looked at him, smelled his turmoil, felt the way his magic buzzed against the magic of the realm. He looked so scared, and lost. He was so new to this. Is that what Adrien looked like to him?

“Well hey, you know—if you stick the two of us together, we make almost one functional creature,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile.

Nino laughed, grinning back at him. He dropped his voice comically low, in an imitation of movie announcers, and said, “Half man… half wolf… half cat… he is: The sídhe wolf.”

“That’s three halves,” said Adrien, laughing delightedly.

“That’s the joke, man!” said Nino, shoving his shoulder.

“It just sounded like you were saying she-wolf!”

“Well shit, what would you call it? It’s not like we could pull off werecat!”

Adrien dissolved in a fit of very undignified giggles.

“I’m starting the show,” Nino huffed, trying and failing to appear upset. It would have been more convincing if he had been able to smother his smile. “Y’all ready for this?”

“Oh man, I hope so,” said Adrien, wriggling closer to the screen, which Nino angled towards him. He was still laughing intermittently, but was excited enough at the prospect of cartoons that he could reel it in somewhat.

“I guarantee you you’re not,” Nino said ominously, and hit Play.

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

By the time they had finished the first episode, Adrien was smitten.

By the time they had finished the second, he was downright enchanted.

By the time they had finished the third, Plagg had somehow become involved.

“Nino, but—do you understand? The real power of Ash’s pokémon is the power of his trust in them. They l-love each other already!”

“Please stop crying,” said Nino, sandwiched between a sobbing Adrien and a fascinated Plagg.

“So the caterpie was miming evolution, right?” asked Plagg, completely ignoring Adrien. “It’s going to turn into that butterfly thing?”

“Yeah, a butterfree,” said Nino, rubbing soothing circles on Adrien’s back. “Uh, next episode, I think.”

“It looked like N-Nooroo,” Adrien hiccuped, looking over at Plagg and trying to wipe the tears away with the back of his hand.

“It really didn’t,” said Plagg. He kept his eyes on the screen, currently paused on the end credits so Adrien had time to gather himself before the next episode. “You’re just saying that because it was a butterfly and it was kind of purple.”

“What’s Nooroo?” Nino asked uncertainly, looking to his uncharacteristically stoic host.

“He’s… he was a friend of ours,” said Plagg. “He’s gone now, so there’s no point in crying about it. These things happen.”

“Not like this,” Adrien mumbled into his forearm. “Never like this, Plagg.”

They sat in silence for a while, Plagg watching the screen, Adrien watching Plagg, and a deeply uncomfortable Nino trying to pretend he knew what was going on.

“Why don’t you go get dinner started?” Plagg suggested finally, looking over to his charge. “We should eat before the moon comes up, give you kids some fuel.”

“Okay,” Adrien agreed, sniffing loudly and scrubbing at his face with the neck of his shirt. He wriggled out of the bed, slipping his boots back on, and headed back to the main room of the sídhe. Nino trailed uncertainly behind him, Plagg trotting in their wake with his tail streaming out behind him.

“I’m, uh—I’m sorry for your loss,” Nino said to Plagg, audibly swallowing.

Plagg looked up at him with ancient, glittering eyes.

“When you’re immortal,” he said quietly, though not so quietly Adrien couldn’t still understand him, “you become accustomed to loss. Mortals are fond of saying that death is a part of life, it’s all playing into this big cycle, like the changing of seasons. Even if I believed that—it doesn’t make it any easier.”

Adrien got out the ingredients he needed, pulling down a counter that could be folded up into the wall so he could lay everything out.

“Have you… I mean… how old are you?” Nino asked.

“Too old,” said Plagg, with a wry smile that Adrien could hear in his voice without even looking back at the pair as they settled on the bench behind him. “Maybe I’m not supposed to care this much after so long a time, but I still do. I miss them. I think about what they’re missing, now they’re gone.”

“I don’t think being old is any reason not to care about people,” said Nino.

“No,” Plagg agreed, “but I ought to know better. I get so attached to these mayfly lives you all lead, and then sulk when it’s taken away. It’s foolish of me to fight and struggle and resist, maybe—but when did a cat ever do what it was told?”

 Adrien seasoned the salmon while lost in his own thoughts. He had never known death the way Plagg was talking about it—sure, he’d never had any parents, but it was one thing when you didn’t know what you were missing, wasn’t it? He’d always been happy with the aos sídhe.

As if reading his mind, and addressing him under the guise of speaking to Nino, Plagg murmured, “The last one I lost was Adrien’s mother.”

“O-oh,” said Nino, and Adrien could feel his fretful and curious gaze burning into the back of his head as he worked. “This must be bringing up a lot of uh, feelings, then.”

“I’m bound to help him, you know—I swore I would always take care of him. But it’s not just about the magic, or duty, or any of that. I’ve spent the last ten or twenty years with the boy, and he’s special. I love him more than all the rest of them put together, and I won’t let anything hurt him. The Queen herself couldn’t stand in my way.”

“As if she’d try,” said Adrien, trying to bring a little levity to the conversation. He brought the salmon over to the fire in a copper skillet, peering critically between Plagg and their guest. Nino looked solemn, but at least he wasn’t squirming with awkwardness anymore. “She’s ten times nicer to me than you are, you know.”

“She’s a thousand times nicer than I am in general,” said Plagg with a loud purr. “Provided you’re in her good graces, of course.”

“Somehow I have a hard time picturing you getting into anyone’s good graces,” said Nino, smiling down at Plagg. The cat sídhe didn’t even pretend to look offended, merely rolling onto his back and reaching for Nino’s hand, demanding to be petted.

“Oh, I think you’d be surprised,” he rumbled. “I happen to be her very favorite.”

“ _Why_ is beyond any of us,” Adrien laughed from where he knelt beside the fire. He hooked a stool with his foot, dragging it closer so he could sit and keep an eye on their dinner while they spoke.

“Marinette liked me,” said Plagg, turning his head so that it was pressed against his shoulder, and he was peering at Adrien upside down. The mischief in his voice was unmistakable, and Adrien found himself blushing preemptively.

Nino looked between the pair of them with growing delight.

“Whoa, hold up,” he said, grinning at Adrien. “Are you like, into Marinette?”

“Yes!” sang Plagg, at the same time Adrien shouted, _“No!”_

Glaring furiously at the smug cat sídhe, Adrien hasted to explain, “I’ve just been—thinking. About maybe talking to her about the _possibility_ of being her familiar, maybe.”

Nino whistled, leaning back in his seat. He and Plagg wore matching grins.

Adrien’s face felt like it was on fire.

“That’s heavy stuff, dude,” said Nino. “Your first day and you already wanna sign your life away? What’s the rush?”

“There’s no rush,” Adrien muttered, staring determinedly at the floor. “It’s just something I was thinking about, is all. I—none of the other witches I’ve met have been like her.” To be fair, no one he’d ever met had been like her; the girl was one of a kind, to say the least.

“They _do_ love to try and murder you,” Plagg admitted. “I don’t know what their problem is, really. You’re a perfectly respectable cat sídhe. No soul stealing or anything.”

“Maybe he looks like somebody else,” Nino suggested, holding up his hands in a mock-frame around Adrien’s face. “A shapeshifter using your face or something. ‘Witches’ Most Wanted’, featuring our own Théo Barbot in disguise.”

“Maybe it’s because she can tell what I’m feeling, or when I’m lying,” said Adrien, prodding the salmon so it wouldn’t stick. “Marinette knows I’m not like, evil, or big on soul-eating, or whatever.”

“Is it really that big a concern?” asked Nino, making a face. “What does it even entail?”

“Well, we steal your soul,” drawled Plagg, “and in return it grants us power, longevity, et cetera, et cetera. A bunch of hocus pocus that really boils down to, ‘we get your lifespan and also some magic boosts.’”

“So it’s like, a rare candy in Pokémon. It’ll boost your level without you having to do any of the work?”

“Sure,” said Plagg, raising an eyebrow. “Although to a degree there are powers we can never access _without_ stealing souls. Honestly, becoming a familiar is the closest you can ever get to reaching your full potential in terms of magic outside this realm.”

“Are you a familiar, Plagg?” asked Nino.

“I’m familiar to many, and stranger to few,” said Plagg, closing his eyes. Nino scratched him under the chin.

“You won’t get an answer out of him on that one,” Adrien advised, “I’ve been trying for years. He says it would bias me.”

“It’s on a strict need-to-know basis,” said Plagg, purring as Nino moved to his jaw, “and you, children, do not need to know.”

Adrien hummed sourly, pulling the salmon away from the fire and testing it with the side of the spatula.

“One of these days I’m just going to stop feeding you, and we’ll see who needs to know what then,” he muttered, moving back to the counter.

He served the dinner simply, putting Plagg’s in a bowl for his convenience. To his and Nino’s plate, he added some simple asparagus and a little wedge of lemon, in case Nino was into that.

They ate on the couch, conversation mostly dying out in favor of eating. Plagg was insufferably loud, as always, but Adrien found Nino to be a good mealtime companion. He discovered they could communicate largely with gestures, something that tended to escape him when the person he was sharing meals with was eating out of a dish on the floor.

“This is bomb, dude,” said Nino through a mouthful of asparagus. “I don’t even like vegetables.”

“Oh they’re terrible,” Adrien agreed. “But I’ve got like thirty different fairies breathing down my neck about vitamins, so it’s non-negotiable, apparently.”

“If you don’t eat your vegetables, your coat will lose that healthy sheen,” Plagg put in. Having finished before the teenagers, he had wound his way to the top of the bench, where he was now settled and cleaning his whiskers. “Also, they’ll all yell at me, and I’m far too busy not wanting to deal with that.”

“Do you want some asparagus, Plagg?” asked Adrien with a grin, shifting in his seat so he could look up at him. “I’ve still got some of the stalks left.”

“Eat your own vegetables, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well full disclosure, everything about the interior of the sídhe is bullshit. The thing about Tír na nÓg is, everyone gives varying accounts of it. Is t underground? Is it across the sea, to the west, with the afterlife? IS it the afterlife? It's interwoven with legend and historical figures in such a way that it's... difficult, to pick apart what the truth was. And there mayn't have been a truth--I mean hey, it's an oral tradition, you know? Shit varies from region to region. It's like trying to find a universal recipe on... stew. Or something. Idk I'm rambling again
> 
> Anyway yeah I just made all this shit up. Uh, the structure in general is kinda based on Newgrange--except a little roomier, 'cause idk if y'all've seen it, but that shit is TEENY inside. I dunno, the walls are more like... idk, check out my masonry tag. http://clarenecessities.tumblr.com/tagged/masonry
> 
> Adrien's room was kind of tricky bc I wanted it to feel more... not lived-in, but like, cluttered? Idk. I don't think I conveyed that very well but his bed-tower is the most important bit lmao


	4. The Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The second segment is pretty much exclusively body horror. please tread carefully

“So, did you want to check out the forest before the moon comes up?” asked Adrien.

Nino pulled a handful of candy from a bag he’d rested on his thigh, staring contemplatively at the hearth as he chewed. “Yeah,” he said finally. “You’re sure it’s going to be safe?”

“Positive,” said Adrien, rooting in the bag Nino offered him. He pulled out a few red candies, leaving the rest untouched, causing Nino to laugh at him. They were sitting beside each other on the couch, feet propped up in front of them, blanket pulled across their laps. “Everything in that forest is magical enough to protect itself from anything we could throw at ‘em, so we can just go wild.”

Nino hummed, but didn’t say anything.

Adrien watched him from the corner of his eye, then pulled out a fistful of candy, picking the red ones out and dumping the rest back in the bag, trying to see if he could get another laugh out of his new friend.

Nothing.

“Come on,” he said to Nino, stuffing the candy in his mouth and getting to his feet. The air was cold out from under the blanket, which only added to the oppressive atmosphere beginning to gather around the pair.

Nino was unhappy. He was so unhappy that it was clinging to him like a smell, thickening the air like the threat of thunder.

Wordlessly, Adrien led him to the single door, which now opened to a hallway, lined with matching oak doors. He glanced at Nino, who would ordinarily be thrilled with this, but the werewolf’s eyes were on his feet, his head slightly bowed, his shoulders slumped. It made Adrien’s heart hurt to see the cheerful boy so defeated.

“It’s this one,” he said, to break the silence, as he opened the third door on the left. He held it open for Nino, who walked inside and stopped immediately in surprise. Adrien followed his gaze, looking out and up into the trees.

This room wasn’t like the other parts of the sídhe that Nino had seen so far. Instead of a rounded stone ceiling, the sky was spread out above them like a blanket, speckled with stars and the same glistening motes that drifted through the main room, twisting like embers through the darkness. The sky seemed nearer here than in the outside world, but Adrien had never found it oppressive; it was a reassuring weight, a reminder that the world was within his grasp, should he ever choose to reach for it. The trees were mostly deciduous, and while the majority were recognizable, a few defied names entirely. Adrien had never seen another species like the kind that Plagg grew in this forest, no matter how far he journeyed into either realm. They were huge and twisting, pale with dappled bark and huge, broad leaves that looked blue in the evening light. It was after one of these trees that he had painted the mural surrounding his bed. The undergrowth was thick, a tangle of bushes and ivy and thickets of low-growing shrubs. Game trails wound their way through, some clearer than others. A brook was babbling nearby, and a few crickets chirped as birds called their vespers into the twilight. The air was heavy with the scent of leaves and soil and safety, and Adrien breathed it in, letting it fill his lungs and spread to the farthest reaches of his being. Most of his discomfort vanished; if there was _anything_ he could do to help Nino, here was the place to do it.

Adrien shut the door behind them. It stood alone, three posts and a beaten bogwood door, inauspicious in the moss, with no wall to hold it up.

“How big is this place?” asked Nino, looking back at him.

“As big as it wants to be, really,” said Adrien with a shrug. “It loops around eventually but it grows and shrinks like… lungs. I dunno. Think inhaling and exhaling.”

“So if we took off in a line due east, we’d come back around to the same place?”

Adrien frowned, considering. “I think that’s truer of your world than this one. It’s not spherical, it’s like… infinite. There kind of… I don’t think there _is_ an east.”

Nino stared at him, then pulled out his phone, flicking open the compass feature.

“How is it that you get perfect reception?” he asked as he watched the needle spin, laughing. It was a tense laugh that didn’t reach his eyes, but Adrien would take what he could get.

“Magic,” he answered, with the warmest smile he could muster. “C’mon, let’s get to lower ground. There’s a meadow around somewhere that’d be a good place to find your feet.”

He led the way down the slope, picking around boulders, and trees that grew taller and taller, and wider and wider. Nino kept close on his heels, and Adrien could hear his shallow breathing. He was panting, the rank smell of fearful apprehension coming off him in waves, and Adrien wished he knew what to say to reassure him.

They followed the winding path of the brook when they reached it, and after a few short minutes the land began to level out. The water grew quieter as its path grew broader, and through the trees Adrien could see a patch of pale sky.

They emerged into the meadow, startling a flock of sparrows into flight, and Adrien waded through the knee-high grass to the center, turning to watch Nino, who was still at the edge of the trees, trembling.

“It’s okay,” he called softly, holding out his hand, palm up. He reached out with his magic, trying to say with more than words that it was safe, that everything would be alright.

His magic woke the meadow’s own magic, and the grass beneath him glowed as warmly as the fireflies in answer, a humming pulse that radiated outwards until the meadow was lit as brightly as the rest of the sídhe, with the deep blue sky overhead.

Nino hesitated for almost a minute, but Adrien waited, hand extended, eyes lowered to show he was no threat, and finally the werewolf relented, creeping through the bent stalks where Adrien had passed as though he were a deer wary of being shot.

The moon shone bright above them.

By the time he reached Adrien, Nino was shaking so hard he looked as though he might fall apart. His eyes had brightened to white gold, flickering from Adrien to his hand to the ground, to the sky.

“It’s okay,” Adrien repeated, murmuring.

“I’m scared,” Nino admitted in a hoarse whisper. He wrapped his arms around himself, hunching slightly as if avoiding a strong wind.

“Don’t be,” said Adrien, reaching slowly to touch his shoulder. “You’re safe here. We’ll keep you safe. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

“Will you—” Nino began, breaking off midsentence to suck in a shuddering breath, “Will you transform, too? I don’t want to… I want you to be…”

Adrien was quiet.

This was the last transformation he had before he would be trapped as a cat forever.

He hated himself for hesitating, but—it was an enormous decision. This was a part of himself that he was surrendering, giving up with only a chance at getting it back. The weight of that possibility sat low in stomach, heavy as a stone.

“… I don’t want to be alone,” Nino finished. He looked up, meeting Adrien’s eyes in an emotional plea that dissipated Adrien’s wavering like a cloud of smoke.

“Of course, man,” he said, tightening his fingers on Nino’s shoulder. “I’m here.”

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

It began suddenly; the air flared with magic, and Nino sucked in a desperate breath, as if his lungs no longer worked.

Adrien withdrew his hand from Nino’s shoulder, watching helplessly as his friend was overtaken.

Adrien’s own transformations were gentle, subtle things—quick as thought and just as painless. He changed like waves lapping against a beach, or sunlight dancing through trees.

Nino’s transformation was as far from gentle as it was possible to be.

It started with his eyes. They had already been a few shades paler than normal, but now they brightened to searing yellow, his pupils contracting—or was it his irises blowing wide? He squeezed them shut and dug the heels of his hands into them, not quite able to stem the tears that ran tracks down his face, contorted in pain.

If Nino’s hands hadn’t been raised, Adrien might not have seen the way they curled. His fingernails stretched as though being pulled, narrowing as they went and slicing vertically down the tips of his fingers like scalpels. The overall effect was a hideous twisting as flat nails grew into curved claws, thick and black and more like a cat’s than a wolf’s. A wolf’s claws were designed for traction, working like cleats as they ran and spades as they dug. These were claws designed to fight, to kill. As their proximity to Nino’s eyes began to worry Adrien, the werewolf let out a rattling huff of breath, bending in on himself and crumpling to his knees. His hands, still changing, came up to grip his hair, desperate for a physical anchor.

There was a series of wet pops as joints disengaged, reminding Adrien horribly of pulling apart a chicken wing. He could see the vertebrae in Nino’s back lengthening, and as Nino curled in on himself further his shoulder grew visibly stronger, making him appear hunchbacked, like a bear. As though he had forgotten until it grew uncomfortably tight, Nino’s shifting hands scrabbled at the collar of his shirt, trying to drag it over his head. As he reached back it became apparent his arms could no longer bend that way—his forearms had grown unnaturally long, and his wrists less dexterous, and he succeeded only in ripping the seam of his tag.

Adrien knelt to help, but Nino flinched away, lip curling over teeth that were lengthening just as agonizingly slow as his hands. He growled fiercely, but it was the fear and pain in his scent that made Adrien sit back, dropping his eyes to defer to his dominance, hoping it would help Nino feel safer to control at least that aspect of this nightmare.

Nino wasn’t changing shape so much as only parts of him were growing, rearranging everything else to suit their needs. His chest was forcibly narrowed by the broadening of his neck and shoulders, his sternum jutting forward in a way that didn’t match his still human torso. He let out an involuntary whine and curled further in on himself, his hands—well, paws at this point—snatching fistfuls of grass as his sides heaved for breath. His shirt began to rip, almost directly down the center of his spine. Adrien wondered if he could find some way to fix it; it had been a band t-shirt for some French group he had never heard of, but from Nino’s constant headphone usage he was pretty confident the werewolf was a music aficionado.

As he was considering the dubious future of Nino’s cargo shorts, he heard a ripping sound unlike the tearing of fabric. His eyes darted back to Nino’s face, and he gasped to see the skin tearing away from a lengthening muzzle, unable to reshape itself fast enough to accommodate the growing fangs. Molars sharpened into carnassials, incisors rapidly changed into points, canines became longer, and longer, and longer. His gums were streaked with blood, and his nose led the charge, darker and bigger and wetter than it had a right to be, nostrils flared in distress.

Nino’s jaw had thickened considerably, the muscles anchored to a visible ridge along the top of his skull, and his ears had twisted and widened while Adrien hadn’t been looking, filled with what looked like hair.

It was at this point that fur began to sprout from Nino’s body, forcing its way from beneath the skin. Adrien swallowed. He had been expecting a thickening of existing hair, maybe even a rolling blanket of fur that started at point A and ended at point B. This was more like a series of needles emerging from cloth, the thinner outer coat emerging first and leaving Nino looking almost mangy. It was pressed flat in places by his clothes, which Adrien was sure must have hurt—but then, every aspect of this seemed to hurt.

Denser, softer fur emerged after, and Adrien realized with shock that Nino now had a tail. It was curled low under his body, hidden from view, but it was the only part of him other than his arms and head not covered in fabric.

With the added bulk of his fur, Nino’s neck was now the same thickness as his torso had been, and the t-shirt finally surrendered to the strain and came apart, falling around his wrists. He was breathing like a racehorse, and his heart was beating so loudly and furiously that Adrien could hear it from two feet away, but the change seemed to be wrapping up, so Adrien decided to transform.

Still sitting on the ground, he moved his arms between his raised knees so he wouldn’t be sent sprawling, and closed his eyes.

He breathed in; he took in the scents of the meadow, the forest, the sídhe, of Nino; he took in all the magic he felt around himself, letting it travel to every individual piece of himself, everything that he was.

Then he let it out.

As quickly and as simply as that, he was a cat—a little larger than most, but on the smaller side for a cat sídhe. Plagg was a full two cat-heads taller than him in this form, and absolutely loved to remind Adrien of it.

He stretched to get a feel for his new-old limbs, sleek black fur rippling under the stars and over the grass as he flexed his claws in the dirt. His backed cracked in a comfortable kind of way, so unlike the noises that had issued from Nino—

Ah. Nino.

The wolf had completed his transformation, panting and trembling against the ground. He had laid down entirely, and his eyes were closed, but the fear was fading from his scent. His arms were thicker than a true wolf’s would have been; they too were built more like a cat’s. Or—Adrien amended to himself as Nino pushed himself on quivering paws to his feet, getting taller, and taller—maybe more like a lion’s.

Nino shook himself as though he’d just climbed out of a swimming pool, dislodging his (largely unharmed) shorts in the process. His nose twitched and moved as if it had a mind of its own, and then his attention was all for the cat sídhe beside him. Sharp yellow eyes locked with summer green. Wolf eyes.

Adrien lowered his gaze carefully, sinking to the ground as slowly as he dared. The stress of the change had knocked Nino—or at least, human Nino—unconscious. Only the wolf remained. He was confident Nino wouldn’t hurt him in any form, but the faster he felt comfortable, the better it would be for Nino.

As the nose neared Adrien, stretching towards his flank, he rolled onto his back.

Even spending most of his time in human form, Adrien’s instincts were not in favor of displaying his soft and vulnerable underbelly. As he wrestled with the almost uncontrollable urge to flip back over, Nino’s nose snuffled against his fur, taking in his scent and reading the surrender in his body language.

Adrien chanced a glance at those yellow eyes and found they had darkened back to gold—and his sclera were paling to white.

Adrien grinned the Cheshire grin he’d learned from Plagg.

“Hey man.”       

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

“How are you feeling?” Adrien asked softly. Nino’s eyes, though no longer wolf-yellow, lacked their usual brightness, and weren’t moving quite the way they were supposed to.

Nino made no attempt to respond, staring vacantly at Adrien and shivering miserably in the warm air. His breathing was loud and shallow, great puffs of air forcing themselves in and out of his nose. Adrien could see it moving from the effort.

“I guess you probably haven’t learned to talk in wolf form,” Adrien said carefully. He wasn’t sure how much of this Nino would remember, but he didn’t want to make him feel like he should know something by now. It was only his third or fourth moon by the sound of things, and the fact that he was able to achieve even a modicum of awareness was itself an accomplishment.

“How about I just use easy sentences, and you nod or shake your head or growl or something?” he suggested, rolling back onto his stomach now that Nino was done smelling him.

Nino gave a short whine, his head jerking in a gesture somewhere between a nod and a shrug.

“Great,” said Adrien brightly, trying to keep the mood light. He couldn’t do anything to help the pain and anxiety of the transformation itself, but he could certainly try to alleviate the pressure of the full moon.

They’d have fun tonight if it was the last thing Adrien did.

“I was thinking I could show you a couple things in the forest, and then we could come hang out in the meadow until moonset. Does that sound okay?”

Nino nodded, his dull eyes tracking Adrien as the cat sídhe got to his feet, stretching again, his tail held high.

It felt so good to be in this form again. It wasn’t that he disliked his regular, human shape; there was just something about the act of transforming itself that felt cleansing, restorative. Like a good sneeze. There were trade-offs—while he had a much better handle on his magic, his feline instincts kicked into overdrive. Colors became duller, particularly reds, but his field of vision expanded, and shadows had shrunk back until the whole of the night opened itself up to him. His night vision was already better than the average human’s, but it had nothing on this form’s senses.

He led Nino through the meadow, continuing along the path they’d begun. Fireflies and sprites trailed up from the grass where they passed through, swirling through the air above them in little gusts of wind.

The trees on the other side of the meadow were spread more loosely, but twice as large. Lady ferns sprouted from every available surface, feathery fronds uncurling in the timeless summer of the sídhe. They were short enough that Adrien could walk through them with little trouble, despite how densely packed they became at times. Nino crashed through the undergrowth behind him with all the grace of a newborn foal, his huge paws clumsy on the leaf-slick loam.

Adrien leapt onto a fallen tree, laying on its side amidst its companions. Once he had asked Plagg why they didn’t dispose of these dead giants, citing the sadness he was sure the other trees must feel, living amongst the corpses of their brethren. Plagg had said something about grass and antelopes that Adrien now knew to be a quote from the Lion King—but the day’s events had set him to wondering once again.

As Nino heaved himself clumsily onto the log beside him, Adrien peered up into the canopy, which rocked and swayed in the evening air.

“Do you think trees understand death?” he asked quietly. After a moment’s silence, he turned to find Nino staring at him, panting from the effort of climbing the tree.

“I just mean, do you think they know—or understand or whatever—that they’re going to die? One day?” he tried to explain, blushing under his fur.

“And who says they are?” came a voice from the forest behind them. Nino jumped, almost falling off the log, and Adrien turned to face the interloper.

A beautiful white doe emerged from the trees, shining pale as moonlight in the shadows.

“Duchess,” said Adrien, lifting his chin in greeting and acknowledgement.

“Is it to the wolf you’re talking?” she asked, her huge black eyes turning to an embarrassed Nino, struggling to regain his balance. “Never knew you to be a wolf whisperer.”

“You’ve never known wolves at all,” said Adrien, laughing freely. “When’s the last time you’ve even seen one? Nino’s a _were_ wolf, and he happens to be my friend, so I’ll thank you to mind your manners.”

“What manners has a deer to mind?” asked Duchess. “It’s going about our own business, we are. Concerned with grazing and luck and stories, running clear as the brook. Is it good with you, the wolf?”

“He’s my friend,” Adrien repeated, smiling. “I like him.”

“Mind your friend’s fangs, then, and we’ll be minding our manners,” said Duchess, sniffing haughtily. She picked her way closer, examining them both with a critical eye. “It’s too skinny you are, the both of you. Doesn’t the Cat feed you, Child?”

“Well and often, Duchess,” said Adrien, who had long ago stopped trying to teach the deer his name. If they hadn’t learned Plagg’s by now, his was a lost cause. “And hopefully Nino will be around more often, too.”

Duchess gave a satisfied nod, and without any show of pretense, turned and walked into the trees. “Don’t be keeping to yourself then, Child. The wolf is welcome in our woods.”

“They’re not just yours!” Adrien yelled pointlessly after her. She was long gone by the time he opened his mouth. He turned back to Nino, who was staring at him. The wolf whined in apparent confusion.

“That was Duchess,” he explained. “She’s one of the older deer in the herd, and kind of the queen of the gossip network. She knew you were a werewolf, but she wanted to fish for some information anyway. They may not be aos sídhe, but our deer are certainly, uh—tricky. I can’t ever tell how smart they are, honestly. Sometimes I think they’re just silly animals, and then they do something ridiculously complicated and I’ve got to reconsider my whole life, you know?”

Nino gave a huffing cough, his wide smile giving it away as a laugh, tail wagging slowly behind him.

“Let’s go,” said Adrien, grinning back at him. He jumped off the log and took off into the trees at a sprint, Nino hot on his heels.

He took Nino to only a few of the sídhe’s more interesting sites—he wanted to leave some places for later excursions. They went by Adrien’s favorite dolmen, and a massive boulder covered from tip to toe in intricate, interlaced carvings, which Plagg had done when he’d still had opposable thumbs. They went to a towering waterfall, and splashed at the edges of the fairy pool beneath it, watching the starlight dance across the waves and spray.

It was only when the moon began to dip below the treeline that Adrien suggested to a panting Nino they return to the meadow to sleep. The werewolf, clearly exhausted, nodded his assent, and they set off at a pace made brisker by the declining slope leading them back.

“Did you have fun?” he asked Nino a little anxiously as they picked their way through the grass, back to where they had transformed. He didn’t want to pressure him, and he was sure Nino wouldn’t be raring for the next full moon, but he’d tried his best to help. To make things a little more bearable.

Nino looked up at the sky, apparently considering. Closing his eyes, he nodded once, decisively, puffing out a little breath as if that settled the matter. Adrien beamed.

Nino’s clothes lay where he’d discarded them, his shirt miraculously repaired and everything sitting in a neat little pile. Nino’s tail wagged at the sight, and he looked to Adrien for an explanation, tongue lolling between his jaws.

“Might have been Plagg,” said Adrien, laughing. He kind of doubted it, but it was too late to speculate as to who was roaming the sídhe and fixing things in the dead of night. “We can ask him in the morning. He’ll wake us up in time for school.”

Nino made a small noise in the back of his throat, turning in a tight circle to flatten the grass around him, and curled into a ball. Adrien wormed his way between his shoulder and neck, settling against the warm fur. Nino heaved a contented sigh, tipping his head to make more room for Adrien.

As the moon began to set, the meadow was filled with the humming of insects, the quiet babbling of the brook, and Adrien’s muted purr.

 

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

The stone was cold beneath his fingers, the only sensation in the darkness.

He could hear nothing, not even his own breathing, and his magic was smothered and extinguished, leaving him blind and helpless, groping his way across the room, staggering against the uneven flooring.

“Where are you?” he asked, though his voice had no sound.

The darkness held its tongue.

 _“Where are you?”_ he demanded, his hands curling into fists. Though his magic was hidden from him, he used some of it in the force of his words, making the question almost a spell.

Adrien felt a flash of confusion, unable to process how he had accomplished that—and then he heard a soft tinkling of bells.

And the darkness shattered.

He stood in Nooroo’s sídhe, furniture splintered and strewn about, a small purple form gasping for breath, on its knees in the wake of his assault.

He felt strong. Powerful.

Afraid.

“Nooroo?” Adrien whispered, though his voice had no sound.

“You won’t find them,” said Nooroo, looking up at him with defiance and fury and pain. Colorless blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, and Adrien’s stomach lurched.

“Who?” he asked, but heard himself say, “I already have.”

Nooroo sagged, hearing the truth in the words Adrien hadn’t spoken. “Then they will beat you,” he said, “You won’t get away with this.”

“I already have,” he said, though the sound had no voice.

He reached out a long, pale arm, and gripped Nooroo by the throat.

“The aos sídhe have no souls,” Nooroo choked out, clutching at the fingers lifting him off the ground. “There is nothing for you here.”

“The aos sídhe have magic,” he answered, and reached inside.

          

Adrien jolted awake in a panic, stumbling away from Nino and retching into the grass.

Nooroo.

Terror roared through his veins, his pulse thundering in his ears, the phantom pain of the nightmare fresh in his heart.

“Adrien?” asked Nino, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The sun had yet to rise, but he was fully human again in the lightening morning meadow. He’d gotten dressed at some point, but his shirt was backwards, the tag poking out above his collarbone. His voice was thick with sleep. “You okay man?”

“I’m okay,” Adrien answered in a trembling whisper. “Just—just had a nightmare.”

Nooroo.

He’d had nightmares before, but the stark reality of this one—of watching a being he had always thought of as invincible die, as though by his own hand—hit a little too close to home. He slunk back to Nino’s side, the werewolf’s callused fingers rough as they scratched behind his ear.

It was a comforting gesture, and Adrien allowed himself to be lulled back into a fitful sleep, though no more nightmares plagued him.

 

“It’s getting stronger,” said Plagg, watching his charge and the young werewolf drift back to sleep. “It can’t be him, Tikki. Wouldn’t we know, if…?”

“It’s not impossible,” she answered gently. “It certainly wouldn’t be the first time we underestimated Gabriel.”

Plagg was quiet for a long moment. “Then,” he said at last, voice low with anger, “it will certainly be the last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes on Duchess: In Jack the Giant Killer, the final giant he defeats (Galigantus) holds among his prisoners the daughter of a Duke, who has been transformed into a white doe. While I named her in honor of the character, they are not the same for the purposes of this narrative. Secondly, her speech is a little uh, awkward? Though she doesn't have an accent I wanted to convey a connection to the old ways and the old land, so I gave her (and the other deer) a syntactical structure based on Irish's VSO order. 
> 
> In the old days, it was illegal to speak Irish, but you weren't allowed to learn to speak English--so they did as best they could, and wound up shoving an English vocabulary into an Irish syntax. My professor's favorite example of this is "Is it to the store you're going?" which really does sum it up beautifully, imo. 
> 
> Idk, it's not exactly the same--lord knows i couldn't replicate that speech pattern without significantly more study than i'm willing to devote to a deer--but the influence is there. "Is it good with you, the wolf?" is just a literal translation of "An mhaith leat X?" the x here being whatever word you wanna use for wolf. personally idt duchess would like mac tire, but badhbh badhbh is, uh... silly


	5. Up the Airy Mountain, Down the Rushy Glen

Adrien woke slowly, yawning languidly and burrowing further into the warmth beside him. His nose was tucked against his chest, toasty in his dark fur and filling his head with his own scent, the peace and security of sleep laying over him like a blanket.

“Oh no you don’t,” came an all-too-familiar voice from above him.

Adrien groaned. “Five more minutes,” he pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut tighter.

“You know, _I_ don’t care if you make it to school on time, but I seem to recall a certain someone saying he’d never been so excited in his life?”

“I can be excited in five more minutes,” Adrien grumbled, opening one eye a crack.

“Mm? Wha’time izzit?” mumbled Nino beside him, lifting his head from the pile of grasses he’d used as a makeshift pillow. He was squinting in the early light, face screwed up against the morning.

“It’s time to get up,” said Plagg, batting at Adrien’s ear. His charge groaned and burrowed further into Nino’s side, pressing his nose against the warm fabric of his t-shirt.

“’Mkay,” slurred Nino, yawning and rubbing his face with his free hand.  He propped himself up on his elbows, and Adrien’s groaning grew louder.

“Oh, get up,” said Plagg, rolling his eyes and turning to go back up the slope.

“Wait!” yelped Nino, scrambling to his feet. “I don’t know how to get out of here, take me with you.” He stumbled after the cat sídhe in a sleepy haze, leaving an extremely disgruntled Adrien to trail in their wake.

He was not a morning person.

… Cat.

Whatever.

The air was gratingly cold after his cozy sleep, and his eyes felt like they’d been glued shut. He paused to swipe a paw over them before they made their way up to the door, before he could get covered in dew or soil.

The (incredibly brief) hike helped to wake the two teenagers up a little, though Adrien was still scowling at Plagg and Nino’s fist was halfway jammed into his eye socket as he tried to knuckle away the sleep. Plagg stood on his hind legs to turn the handle, which he’d told Adrien had to be installed after he used up his final transformation, regaling him of the unfortunate week he’d spent trapped in his own closet. A ‘cautionary tail,’ he’d called it, snickering delightedly—and the memory helped soothe some of Adrien’s resentment at being awoken so early. Plagg knew as well as he did that they could sleep as long as they wanted, and the sídhe would accommodate their relation to the human realm’s time scale; he’d woken them up just to be irritating.

Or, thought Adrien, as they traipsed into the main room of the sídhe, perhaps he’d had other motives.

Standing in front of the fire, holding a mixing bowl and whisk, was an unearthly woman Adrien knew only too well—as far as anyone could know the elusive Queen of the aos sídhe.

“Tikki!” he called warmly, his tail curling up over his back as he bounded to her side, rubbing affectionately against her ankles. She laughed, high above him, clear and cool as the peal of a bell.

“Good morning, Adrien,” she said fondly. She set the whisk into the bowl, perching it on one hip as she stooped to scratch under his chin, leaving him to purr in appreciation.

She was tall, taller than most women— _more,_ somehow, than most women. Her skin was so dark it shone cool, as smooth and eternal as the night sky. Golden freckles sparkled like stars against it, the bright of the sun in her smile. She wore, as she always did, the deepest red Adrien had ever seen, this time in a dress that fell to her bare feet and twirled as she moved, a black vest wrapped around her shoulders.

Her features were sharp and pronounced, and by all means ought to have looked alien, but even if Adrien hadn’t known her his whole life he knew he’d find her familiar and beautiful. Her eyes were blue, pale against her gentle expression, the same limitless expanse of sky he’d come to associate with freedom and summer.

“Are you making pancakes?” he asked excitedly, sitting back on his haunches as if he could get high enough to look into the bowl—as if he’d know what kind of batter he was looking at.

“Crêpes,” she specified, still smiling, as she straightened and returned to her whisking. Adrien gave a delighted mew, prancing around her feet like a kitten. “Now: Are you going to introduce me to your friend, or do I have to try and unteach you some more of Plagg’s ‘manners’?”

Adrien stopped prancing immediately, dipping his head in contrition. “Sorry Tikki,” he said sheepishly, turning to a visibly confused Nino, who was hovering in the doorway with a snickering Plagg. “This is my friend Nino! I did it Tikki, I made a friend on my very first day of school, and we had a sleep over—no, sorry, a sleepover—and we watched Pokémon and we transformed and I showed him some of the woods and—”

“Names first, kid,” Plagg suggested, leaving Nino’s side to leap onto the couch, settling on the green cushions with a chuckle.

“Oh, right. Um, Nino, this is Tikki! She’s our Queen and she’s the best Queen ever, she helped raise me and also she’s making crêpes! Do you like crêpes?”

“She’s… She’s the…?” Nino asked weakly, gesturing vaguely in Tikki’s direction.

“The Queen,” finished Plagg, settling in further and looking absolutely delighted with the werewolf’s reaction.

“And she’s making…”

“Crêpes.”

“And this is normal?” Nino asked, holding onto a shelf behind him as if for support.

“Well not for everybody,” said Adrien, shrugging. He’d seen other cats shrug before. Hopefully he looked a little less awkward. “Plagg is in her court, and since they both knew my mother they did most of my uh, rearing.”

“Plagg was in charge of raising him,” Tikki supplied with another chiming laugh, “and I was in charge of fixing everything Plagg did.”

“Excuse me!” said Plagg indignantly, “I did a fantastic job. Look at him, barely three years old and already he’s making his own friends.”

“Plagg, you had him eating with his hands until he was seven.”

“Silverware is unnecessary, and he should be grateful for his opposable thumbs while he has them. Have you ever tried to eat a sandwich with just paws, Tikki? My life is suffering.”

“I mean I don’t think it’s necessary for everything,” said Adrien, looking between them, “but it would have made eating like, oatmeal, a lot easier. Or at least cleaner.”

“Oh!” said Tikki, whipping the whisk out of the bowl to point it dramatically at Plagg; miraculously, none of the batter sprayed him. “Cleaning! You tried to teach him to lick himself clean!”

“Oh my god,” said Nino, who looked like all his wildest dreams were coming true, “Like, as a person?”

“Maybe,” Adrien admitted, blushing under his fur as he stared at the ground.

“Dude, how old were you when you stopped?”

“… Uh…”

“He was five! I’d come over and the poor dear would be rolling around on the floor trying to lick his toes, getting dirtier than he was to begin with,” said Tikki, with a long suffering sigh. “And of course Plagg thought it was all hilarious.”

“Who cares if he’s clean?” asked Plagg, his wide grin splitting his face, “As long as he smells alright, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“It matters to Adrien, Plagg!” said Tikki, shaking the whisk at him. Some of the batter splashed onto his whiskers, and the cat sídhe wrinkled his nose in discomfort. “You were supposed to teach him how to live in human society, and if I hadn’t stepped in he wouldn’t have even been up for aos sídhe society.”

“We have much lower standards than human society,” Adrien added to Nino, who had pulled up a stool to sit on.

“Some of us do,” said Tikki, in the darkest tone she could muster—it still managed to sound ringing and endearing. She began to make the crêpes, while Adrien hopped onto the couch with Plagg.

“What else did you try to teach me?” he asked his guardian with a grin.

“Oh, useful things mostly. I never steered you wrong on purpose—I’m mischievous, not a monster. Taught you your directions, some nice poems, lots of magic stuff. Had to leave reading and writing to Tikki, though. Hard to show you your letters when I can’t hold a pen,” said Plagg.

“Oh shit, yeah,” said Nino, looking over at Adrien, “do you have to stay a cat for a certain amount of time? Like do you need help taking notes or anything?”

“I’ll be okay,” Adrien promised, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest at his friend’s concern. Friends were so nice. “Unlike certain ancient cat sídhe, _I_ can do a basic pencil enchantment.”

“Well I would have if I’d thought of it,” grumbled Plagg, scowling at him.

“It wouldn’t have done you much good anyway,” Tikki told Adrien as she slid a stack of crêpes onto a platter, “he can’t keep his alphabets straight.”

“Runes are _prettier,_ ” protested Plagg immediately.

“As I have told you countless times, Plagg, the world does not bend itself entirely to your will and preferences.”

“It ought to,” he muttered, “Or what’s the point of magic at all?”

Tikki studiously ignored him, turning instead to Nino. “Do you want sweet or savory toppings, dear? I brought strawberries and chocolate chips and things, and I know for a fact Plagg has more than enough meat and cheese laying around to spare.”

“O-oh,” said Nino, starting slightly, “um, whatever’s easiest, I guess?”

“Sweet it is,” she said, shooting a victorious smirk at Plagg, who looked highly offended.

“You’re picking strawberries over cheese?” he demanded.

“I’m—I just don’t—no?”

“You’re damn right no,” said Plagg, narrowing his eyes. “I’m watching you, kid.”

“You’re not allergic to hazelnuts, are you?” asked Tikki, still pretending she couldn’t hear her counterpart’s stewing. “They’re an excellent source of protein.”

“So’s real food,” said Plagg, as Nino told Tikki no, he wasn’t allergic, he’d love some of the spread she was slathering onto her own crêpes.

“You can’t live on just cheese, Plagg,” said Adrien, nosing his shoulder affectionately.

“I can try!”

“She’ll get you to try some of the sweet ones one day, and boy, you’ll be sorry then,” Adrien promised, grinning. “You’ve been missing out, old man.”

“Do you usually eat the sweet ones?” Nino asked, as Tikki handed him a plate with three neatly rolled up crêpes.

“For breakfast I usually do two savory, one sweet—but for lunch or dinner it’s the other way around,” Adrien explained.

“Always threes, though,” observed Nino, smiling as he cut into a crêpe with the side of his fork, wiggling it against a particularly resistant strawberry.

“It makes it taste better,” Adrien confessed, a little sheepishly. Maybe it didn’t _really,_ but that’s sure the way it _felt._

“You’re one weird cat, bro,” Nino told him with a laugh, scooping his food into his mouth.

“You have no idea,” Adrien told him warmly.

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

“You boys had better get going,” said Tikki, pulling their dirty plates from in front of them. Adrien, having been drifting back to sleep, stirred from his place on the couch at Nino’s nudge.

“M’up,” he mumbled, moving to rub his eye with his knuckles, but instead clawing at it awkwardly.

Right. Paws.

This was happening.

“Sure,” said Nino, rolling his eyes. “Do you guys have a bathroom anywhere? As much as I’d love to go to school smelling like cheese and morning breath, I packed the toothbrush for a reason.”

“Yeah,” said Adrien, bobbing his head vaguely at the door. “Just think about where you wanna go an’ it’ll open. It sticks sometimes but just try again. Is your bag in here or did we take it to my room?”

“It’s in your room, I think. From when we were watching Pokémon.”

“So just think about my room then, I’m pretty sure it’s still set to the hall.”

“Why do you even have a hall if the door can do whatever it wants?” Nino asked, laughing. “I thought of that last night, but I couldn’t really ask.”

“That’s one of my better enchantments, I think,” Plagg piped up, with great satisfaction. “The doors in that hallway can’t be reached directly because they’re sectioned off from the rest of the sídhe, which means I can lock them. Adrien went through this horrible phase where he’d just open the door for hours and hours exploring everything, and it got too be a little too hazardous, so I locked some rooms up before curiosity could kill the kitten.”

“The woods were through the hallway though, what’s so dangerous about the woods?” asked Nino, looking at Adrien suspiciously. “You said there wasn’t anything scary in there, man.”

“I may have, uh… gone on an extended camping trip?” said Adrien, wincing a little.

“’Camping,’ implies you meant to do it,” said Plagg, more than a little sourly. He looked back at Nino. “Basically, he got lost in the woods for a week and a half. I banned him until he had some survival training, because he did _not_ do well.”

“I did fine!” Adrien protested.

“You did very well, Adrien,” Tikki assured him, smoothing his fur with a warm hand. “Most children wouldn’t have been able to find enough food to survive. We’re lucky Plagg keeps his forest stocked like a larder.”

“Don’t talk to me about luck, Spots,” grumbled Plagg. “I’ve got so much luck stockpiled, this whole sídhe came pre-babyproofed. He was always going to _survive,_ I just didn’t want to _deal_ with him running off like that.”

“That’s not what you said when you ran into court crying like—”

“ _Okay,_ maybe I was a _little_ worried, but just because who else was going to make me food for free? He’s like a live-in butler. It was entirely selfish.”

“I love you too, Plagg,” said Adrien, rubbing the top of his head against Plagg’s chin with an affectionate purr. Plagg groaned and pouted, but leaned into the contact, and couldn’t smother his own rusty purr.

“You guys are cute,” said Nino, grinning. He got off the couch with a long stretch, cracking his neck as he went through the door to Adrien’s room.

The door shut behind him with an audible click.

“So?” Adrien asked the instant it closed. “What do you think?”

“He’s wonderful, sweetheart,” said Tikki, laughing at his eagerness. “Did you have fun?”

“So much! Do you think we’re friends?” he asked anxiously. He certainly considered Nino his friend, but he felt weirdly presumptuous assuming Nino liked him. Did people go to sleepovers if they weren’t friends? He wasn’t sure.

“Of course,” Tikki assured him with a warm smile. “Though I would like to talk to you about your current shape. Why did you transform last night?”

Adrien shifted sheepishly on his paws, looking down at the cushion between them.

“I dunno,” he told the floor, ears flattening against his head.

“Yes you do,” she said gently, kneeling beside him. “It’s okay, Adrien. You’re not in trouble, I just want to understand.”

“He asked me to,” Adrien mumbled.

“What’s that thing humans say? ‘If your friend asked you to jump off a’—”

“Plagg!” Tikki interrupted sharply, flashing a glare at him before turning her attention back to Adrien. “Why did you transform, Adrien? Did you not know how to say no?”

“No,” he said, “I wanted to. I just…”

“Did you do it so he’d like you?”

Adrien paused for a moment, considering that. Had he? He certainly did want Nino to like him. He’d wanted him to have a good time on their sleepover. But…

“No,” he said finally, “it was just… he was scared. I thought maybe I could help him be less scared. He’s a good person, Tikki—he shouldn’t have to be scared.”

Tikki smiled at him, running a hand along his back in a soothing gesture.

“I’m proud of you, Adrien,” she told him, gentle as a summer breeze, “but we really need to work on your impulse control.”

“Yeah, you’ve got way too much,” droned Plagg, and Tikki swatted at him.

“Do you not miss your human form? You should be setting a better example!” she chided him. “Honestly, of all the things for you to successfully teach him…”

“I’m sorry, should I _not_ have instilled the value of friendship?”

“You _should_ have imparted a modicum of self-preservation to—”

“Uh,” said Nino, emerging from the doorway and straightening his cap over his eyes. “Everything… okay?”

“Everything is great!” Adrien chirped, bounding over to him. “Ready to go?”

“God, as I’ll ever be,” Nino groaned. “This teleportation thing still kinda trips me out, dude.”

“Don’t worry, it’s much smoother when I’m in this form,” Adrien promised, sitting back on his haunches. “Pick me up!”

“You’re gonna start demanding I scratch behind your ears now, aren’t you?” Nino asked, chuckling as he obliged. He settled his bag over one hip and Adrien in front of his chest, scratching him behind the ears with no prompting.

“Looks like you’ll do it on your own,” Adrien purred, leaning into the contact.

“Yeah, yeah—”

“Be good today,” Tikki bid, a little anxiously, kissing them both on the forehead. Nino blushed under his hat, red as the leaves in autumn, and Adrien’s purr grew a little louder.

“And if you’re not good, don’t let them catch you,” said Plagg from the ground, pressed against her shins.

“Thanks guys,” said Adrien, too affectionate to be embarrassed. “I love you. I’ll see you later, be careful out there.”

“We never are,” said Plagg, as Adrien closed his eyes, and the sídhe melted around them.

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

“Do you think anyone will notice?” asked Adrien, craning his neck to peer down the hallway.

“Adrien, it’s your second day at school. I’m pretty sure people will notice you’ve been replaced by a cat,” said Nino.

“I meant do you think they’ll notice I’m _gone_ ,” said Adrien, rolling his eyes.

“Dude. All most people know about you is the cat thing. They’re gonna put that one together pretty quick.”

“Why Monsieur Lahiffe,” drawled a familiar voice from the stairs behind them, “you’ve gotten a cat.”

Adrien froze a little, peering up at Alya’s sly grin, unsure how serious she was being.

“Yeah, this is, uh—Chat… Noir?” said Nino, wincing.

“Meow,” Adrien supplied, as innocently as he could.

“Oh, save it,” said Alya, rolling her eyes and scooping him off the ground.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” said Adrien, gasping and wriggling in her grip. “You can’t just pick people up off the—oh.” He broke off as she started scratching between his ears.

“Maybe not, but you’re not exactly people right now, are you?” she asked with a laugh. “You forget, I’ve had an animal form my whole life. I’m well aware of the etiquette.”

“To be honest, I still don’t really understand what you are,” Adrien admitted. “We didn’t get that far in Pokémon, so I’m still just picturing a sort of fox-themed version of me. A, uh—a sionnach sídhe, I guess.”

“Is that how you say fox?” asked Alya, wrinkling her nose. “I hate it.”

“Hate what?”

Alya and Nino turned to the stairs, Adrien swiveling his head, and all three of them brightened at the sight of Marinette, clutching a bag of what smelled like croissants to her chest.

“Most recently, words,” Nino supplied, eyes glinting at the prospect of even more food. “What’s in the bag, bro?”

“Some pastries,” said Marinette, grinning at them. “I thought we could hear about your little playdate over—well, brunch, probably.”

“Um, excuse me,” said Nino, a little indignantly, fishing through the bag without further prompting, “I’ll have you know that a sleepover is _far_ more serious than a playdate. We’re above and beyond that level, thank you very much.”

“We’re friends!” Adrien chirped triumphantly from Alya’s arms, beaming so wide his whiskers were trembling.

“ _Maybe more,_ ” Nino added, waggling his eyebrows and chomping into an apple Danish.

“Adrien, you transformed?” Marinette asked, surprised. “I thought—”

“It’s not a big deal,” Adrien hurried to say, cutting her off before she could let slip about his limited transformations. She frowned at him, but shut her mouth. He’d hear more about that later. “It was easier to get around like this, too.”

“Yeah, did you guys have fun?” Alya asked, grinning down at him. “Show Nino all your fairy secrets?”

“Well, he showed me some weird ass stuff,” Nino snorted. “Talking deer, doors that open to different places, crêpes made by literal royalty—whole thing feels like a fever dream.”

Adrien’s fur prickled at the mention of dreams, recalling his nightmare. Marinette looked at him in concern while Alya and Nino continued to talk about the pair’s adventures.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head a little, unsure how to voice that it was just a nightmare, it wasn’t real—his mouth felt dry, and his magic hung wreathed around him, dead in the air. Heavy.

Warm fingers found the fur at the side of his face, scratching and soothing the violent thrum locked in his chest. He purred, looking up gratefully at Marinette, who gave him an encouraging smile.

“Do you want to hold him?” asked Alya, a little slyly, and Marinette turned a brilliant shade of pink, swatting her best friend’s shoulder—but she still took Adrien when Alya offered him.

He relaxed immediately in her arms, the mysterious, soothing effect she had on him amplified by the totality of contact. One hand smoothed the fur at his back, while he nestled his head into her shoulder with a small sigh.

Plagg had once told him that humans were hesitant to touch one another, that it signaled a kind of trust or intimacy between them that the aos sídhe exchanged freely. Maybe it was because of her sense of emotions making it easier for her to trust him, or maybe it was just harder to feel uneasy with a cat than a person, but Marinette didn’t seem hesitant at all. Alya had at least seemed accustomed to animal forms, and Nino had held him more out of courtesy, but…

Okay, it was probably wishful thinking that she would have different motivations than the others. He couldn’t help it—the more time he spent under her comforting touch, the more he wanted to be her familiar.

“For real, are you alright?” she asked, frowning down at him.

“I dunno,” he mumbled. “I had a really weird dream last night and it kind of—messed me up, you know?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shrugged. “It was just… weird. I was there when Nooroo was… when he… I was there.”

“Have you ever had dreams like this before?” she asked softly. Alya laughed loudly at something Nino had said, neither of them paying attention to the tense exchange.

“They always get kind of wild when I’m in cat form, but—never _murder-_ wild. Never stuff that might have… actually happened.”

“Do you think that’s what it was? Like a memory?”

“Well, it can’t very well have been _my_ memory, and whose else’s would I remember?” he asked uncomfortably. “I dunno. Plagg is right; something serious is going on. I think I might be… tied up in this, somehow.”

“In killing Nooroo?” asked Marinette, a little incredulously. “Adrien, I hate to break it to you, but you felt pretty surprised to hear he even _could_ die.”

“No, more like… I dunno, whatever it is that’s happening with the aos sídhe. Maybe I’m just paranoid, but it feels… personal, somehow. Like, what are the odds it would happen on my first day of school? I started in the middle of the semester. Maybe that bad luck thing is real after all.”

“Maybe that’s why I help your magic,” Marinette suggested with a laugh, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “I’m lucky.”

“You’re—really?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah, I’ve got three ‘things’—Empathy, Clarity, and Luck.”

He scowled at her, even though he knew she could feel his insincerity. “Three things? That’s hardly fair. I’ve only got one, and it’s just ‘turning into a cat sometimes.’”

“Sorry, Chaton. I’d share if I could,” she chuckled.

“ _Chaton?_ ” he gasped, sounding as scandalized as he could.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I cross a line?” she asked sarcastically, bouncing him a little so that his face was jolted from her neck.

“Touché,” he grumbled, resettling.

“No matter what’s going on, we’ve got your back,” said Marinette, indicating Alya and Nino with a jerk of her head. “You’re a good person… cat… fairy, thing. No matter what sort of weird nightmares you have.”

“Thanks,” he said quietly, headbutting her chin affectionately and wriggling free of her arms. “C’mon—I don’t want to be late on my second day.”

They filed into the classroom in pairs, Alya pulling Marinette along by the elbow and Adrien perched on Nino’s shoulders, turning an unblinking stare on the classroom. A few students had already gathered, though Adrien knew most only by sight and scent, not by name. He recognized Alix by her pink hair, slumped forward and drooling on her desk. He knew Rose, spinning to show off the flare of her dress, but not the ghost that floated beside her with a faint smile.

The ghost looked strange through these eyes—she was somewhat more defined than she had appeared yesterday, but the faded colors that comprised her had dimmed even more than the rest of his palette. She looked almost tangible, but so washed out she was nearly black and white.

“Cat,” came a voice from behind them, and both Nino and Adrien jumped, turning to see the massive boy with flaky, rocklike skin looming over them, looking at Adrien with keen interest.

“Hey Ivan,” said Nino, relaxing.

“Hey,” said Ivan, smiling. Adrien swore he could hear the grating of gravel as the boy moved. “Is that Adrien?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” said Nino, rolling his eyes, “but if you see him use a fork or something, don’t be too surprised.”

“Forks require thumbs,” Adrien muttered.

“ _Oh my god, a talking cat!”_ gasped Nino, clapping his hands to his cheeks.

Ivan plucked the hat off of Nino’s head, ruffled his hair, and put the hat on Adrien. “Good morning, you big dorks.”

“Who you callin’ dork, punk?” Nino laughed, shaking a fist at the retreating giant’s back.

“Who you callin’ punk, dork?” tittered Alya from her seat, rolling her eyes at him. “Face facts, Fido. He’s got you figured.”

Nino pouted at her as he pulled the cap mercifully from Adrien’s head and upper torso. “While I admire the alliteration, I object to ‘Fido’. On the basis of it being a very outdated name.”

“Well shit, I don’t have a dog,” grumbled Alya. “What do people call them? Rover? Spot?”

“My friend Bridgette had a dog named Refrigerator,” Adrien supplied unhelpfully.

Alya stared at him.

“I don’t think it was a regular dog name,” he added after a moment.

“I thought _we_ were your only friends,” said Nino, steepling a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Am I even your first BFF? I feel so lied to.”

“This was a long time ago,” said Adrien, laughing. “She was a changeling, but she was only around for a few months or so. It used to be that my neighbors would get changelings every so often—they called it ‘summer camp,’ and arranged all these silly little games for us to play.”

“Wait, like—just straight up kidnapping?” asked Nino, losing his playful stance. “Why?”

“A lot of reasons,” said Adrien, shrugging. He jumped off of Nino’s shoulders onto their desk so he could see his face better. “Usually it was a deal for somebody’s firstborn, but sometimes it was just trespassing.”

“Only a few months, though? I didn’t realize they gave firstborns _back_ ,” said Marinette from the stair beside him.

“Well, it depends who took them,” said Adrien. “I think Trixx fully intended to keep Bridgette, but she isn’t really cut out for child-rearing, you know? Which I could have told her from her _disastrous_ attempts at babysitting me, but hey, try telling a fox anything, am I right?” He grinned over his shoulder at Alya, who stuck her tongue out at him.

“Watch it, cat,” she muttered. “I know the sídhe are cheeky, but there’s a limit.”

“A limit to how many painfully obvious truths you can tolerate?” asked Marinette, smiling as she slid onto the bench next to her. “C’mon Alya—you’re stubborn as anything.”

“Not as stubborn as you,” said Alya, bumping her shoulder with a smirk.

“Well, I’m not just anything,” said Marinette, fluffing one of her pigtails ostentatiously.

“Uh, excuse me?” Nino interjected, voice keyed higher with humor, “I’m trying to get some fairy secrets?” He threw himself dramatically onto his side of the bench, throwing the back of his hand against his forehead like a swooning damsel, almost knocking his cap off again in the process. “My heart can’t go on like this, my dudes. I gotta get the scoop.”

“’The scoop,’” Adrien scoffed, the tip of his tail flicking back and forth. “I explained the way time works in our realm, didn’t I? How long we have them isn’t necessarily how long they’re gone for. Bridgette was out for seven years.”

“I still don’t get why you’re so sure you aren’t like, a hundred,” said Nino, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on the desk. He propped his face up with an idle fist, twisting to stare at his new friend. “I know you said you were tied to the human realm or whatever, but…”

“I guess it has more to do with being tied to the aos sídhe,” said Adrien. “Like… it knows it’s important to me, and since the realm like, acknowledges me—it tries to help. As a mundane human child, Bridgette didn’t really register, so it was like, why do the extra work? If that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” Alya put in.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Adrien. “It’s like, uh—blood types. If somebody puts the wrong kind of blood in you, your body’s like ‘uh, what the hell,’ you know? So I can sort of work _with_ the magic of the realm, whereas a human kinda confuses it—or pisses it off, depending what they’re trying to do.”

“So if I were to go to your sídhe and try to cast a spell, I’d get zapped?” asked Marinette, raising an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t say _zapped,_ ” he hedged, “but yeah, there’d be some sort of consequence. Could be as minor as the spell not going full power, could be a flash flood. It varies. Actually, depending on what the deal is with your ‘things,’ you might have consequences just for being there—”

“Seriously?” she asked sourly, making a face. “No wonder you’d never had a sleepover, if your house is gonna try to kill people.”

“There is one foolproof vaccine,” Adrien purred, seizing his chance. “A contract with one of the aos sídhe, say—a dashing familiar?”

Marinette’s mouth clicked shut, while Nino burst into laughter. Alya had the decency to try and smother her giggling.

“Just, uh—something to think about,” said Adrien, awkwardness overcoming him as he lost his nerve. Marinette ducked her head to retrieve something from her bag, (or to avoid making eye contact with him). “I—I mean, there are lots of benefits—”

_THWOOM._

Adrien stiffened at the sudden sound in the courtyard, his fur bristling. Nino and Alya copied his stance, whirling instinctively to face the noise, tense, magic flaring around them so sharply that Adrien could feel it.

The wall to the courtyard buckled inwards, glass showering the classroom as the scream of ripping metal filled the air. Children shouted, some diving for cover, but for most it was too late, and the consequences of the explosion took effect.

Adrien was thrown off of the desk and against the far wall, spine twisting automatically to help him land. He immediately ducked under a chunk of cement, growling wordlessly at his surroundings.

Some of the desks had been toppled, and everything had been pushed against the far wall, including most of the students. The concussive sound and resulting shrapnel seemed to have knocked about half of them unconscious—he and the others with animal instincts had made it out, while Marinette’s fortuitous timing meant she’d dodged the worst of the blast. Maybe it was that luck she’d mentioned.

A lucky duck. Heh.

The ghost was floating anxiously beside a crumpled Rose, while Alix and Ivan were straightening with small groans.

Adrien staggered a few paces out from the pile of debris, to where Marinette was hunkered under her desk, Alya beside her. Nino had been thrown into the aisle, but was similarly scrambling to get to their friends.

“What the hell?” he asked, voice shaking as he pulled Adrien nearer, picking him up so he wouldn’t walk on the glass. “What’s going on?”

“Angry,” Marinette whispered, eyes locked on the hole in the wall that revealed the courtyard. “Cheated, jealous—mostly angry.”

“This was a _person?_ ” Alya demanded, her hands fisted into the fabric at Marinette’s shoulders.

“I—I don’t know,” said Marinette. “It’s—”

“I,” announced an unfamiliar voice, echoing through the courtyard and their ruined classroom, high and nasally and unpleasant, “am Stormy Weather.”


	6. Stormy Weather

“Fuck,” Nino breathed, clutching Adrien to his chest. “Fuck!”

“What do we do?” Adrien asked, trying to force his fur to lie flat. The Starting a New School books he’d read had covered things like what to do if you forgot someone’s name, or got lost, not how to react to an enormous explosion.

Marinette looked over her shoulder at their classmates, strewn across the far wall like pieces of a board game someone had violently forfeited. “We need to check them,” she decided. Her voice was shaking.

“They’re all okay,” whispered the ghost.

Adrien jumped; he hadn’t seen her float over, and she had no scent to pick up on.

“They are?” asked Ivan from the row behind them, a relieved murmur.

“Well, aside from being unconscious,” said the ghost. “And Kim’s arm came off, but that happens if he sneezes too hard, so I don’t think we should panic just yet.”

“Thanks, Juleka,” said Ivan, some of the tension coming away from his shoulders. Adrien hadn’t really thought rocks could look _any_ degree of relaxed, but it turned out he was wrong.

Today was apparently all about shattering expectations.

And windows.

“Are they all safe?” Marinette asked the ghost—Juleka—with a slightly steadier voice. For the first time, Adrien could feel her magic. It was churning below the surface like a river in a floodtide. “Like, if we go out there and see what’s going on—will they be okay?”

“They won’t get hurt any worse, I don’t think,” Juleka allowed, frowning a little and looking back over her shoulder at Rose. “Unless the whole building comes down, there’s not much more damage to be done.”

“Shouldn’t this whole place be like, magically reinforced?” asked a visibly frustrated Alya. “I’ve seen it hold up against Ivan during kickball, it should be able to handle a little… whatever that was.”

“Wind,” said Alix sharply. She remained on the far side of the classroom, scowling fiercely into the courtyard. “S’why it didn’t get me. I could feel it.”

“What?” asked Adrien, confused.

“She’s an air elemental,” Nino explained. His heart thundered against Adrien’s back, and his hands were shaking with the stress of repressing his instinct to change into the wolf. Adrien nosed at his hand with a reassuring purr, trying to help him calm down.

“We need to figure out what we’re up against,” said Marinette, as the sound of more muffled explosions reached them. “Is it just an air elemental with freakishly strong powers, or some kind of construct?” She clenched her fist against her thigh, knuckles white with the strength of it. “I’ll go and check, and—”

“Wait,” said Alya, pushing Marinette out of her half-crouch, “Adrien can sense magic. Right?”

He blinked. Had he told her that? Maybe she just knew—at any rate, she was right. He could help. He could be useful. “Yeah,” he confirmed, with a short nod, “gimme a sec.”

He closed his eyes, letting his awareness drift, his own magic expanding in exploratory tendrils towards the courtyard. He felt Nino’s anxious lightning buzz, Marinette’s deep and restless water, Ivan’s constancy and weight. The courtyard felt mostly… empty. Suspiciously empty. There was always some residual magic, little bits and pieces here and there—witches were fond of using it to power spells. To find such a wide, open space with no magic whatsoever would have been unusual even in a completely mundane space—but this was a school of magic. It should have been teeming with untapped power. Snatches of overestimated charms, or the overflow from students who produced their own magic, anything—anything but this vacuum.

Adrien stretched his consciousness a little further, narrowing his focus to a single beam that he swept across the space, searching for the mass he knew he would find.

He made contact, and instantly recoiled. His eyes snapped open, and he physically reared back in Nino’s arms, his breath immediately becoming fast and shallow. He could taste his own fear on the air, which he knew somewhere in the back of his mind wouldn’t be good for Nino’s control, but—

“Shit,” he wheezed, claws tightening unconsciously on Nino’s bare forearm. “ _Shit.”_

“What is it?” Marinette demanded, even more alarmed at his reaction than the others. Well, she ought to be. She could _feel_ his terror, the way it felt like his stomach was clawing its way out of him from the inside.

“It’s aos sídhe magic,” he managed, “it’s—it’s Nooroo’s magic.”

It was more than that—worse than that. It was alien, and wrong, and incomprehensibly changed from the magic of his recently deceased friend. Adrien knew Nooroo’s magic as well as he knew his face, and this farcical parody left him feeling like he’d seen someone using his corpse as a puppet.

“Is it a sídhe?” Marinette was asking him. He couldn’t remember where he was. He felt like everything was spiraling away from him, crashing out of control.

“No,” he told her, swallowing against the bile rising in his throat, “no, it’s—I—I can’t tell, it’s like an elemental, but—it’s layered in, it’s almost like a contract.”

Contracts between the aos sídhe and members of a different species were some of the most stable. It granted access to the vast reserves of aos sídhe power to their counterpart, while using the partner’s own magic as a conduit by which to focus strength.

This was not like those contracts.

“It’s wrong,” said Adrien, shrinking back against Nino’s chest, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head, trying to shake loose the feeling of the abomination he’d touched. “It’s like—it’s a one-way contract, it’s almost a boon, but—it’s using Nooroo’s magic to do it.”

“Slow down,” Marinette soothed, reaching out a still-shaking hand to caress his forehead.

His magic, for once, didn’t respond to her touch.

He took a deep breath. He had to make sure she understood.

“We can’t fight this,” he whispered, “we can’t. A contract is unbreakable.”

“You said it was almost like a boon,” said Marinette, undeterred. “What does that mean?”

“A boon is—it’s immutable. It’s like signing a contract with yourself, except another person is the beneficiary. You’re basically conferring a portion of your power to them, permanently. That’s why only certain species—like the aos sídhe—can do it. We generate our own magic, so we can afford to let some of it go.”

“What makes you think it’s a contract and not a boon?”

He blinked. “Well—I… I guess it’s just how powerful it is. It’s overwhelming the elemental almost completely. Nooroo’s magic, whoever is behind it, is calling the shots here.”

Marinette looked very deep in concentration, frowning between Adrien and the hole in the wall. There was a muffled voice carrying on, in what was probably one hell of a monologue, somewhere deeper into the building.

“What happens if…” she began, rolling the words in her mouth like she was tasting how they sounded, “What happens if you give a boon to an item, instead of a person?”

“It’d be unstable,” said Adrien. “Incredibly powerful, but incredibly unstable. If it were one of the aos sídhe… it takes more out of you. If you want the item to be able to exist without you, you sacrifice that power forever. We only do it under the direst circumstances.”

“What if you want it to exist _with_ you?” Alya interjected.

“You have to maintain a connection,” said Adrien. “A—a sort of awareness. It could only be temporary, because as soon as you lost focus, it’d just be an ordinary item again. It’s like casting a spell with part of your own being as collateral.”

“Or part of a murdered sídhe’s,” said Marinette.

“Marinette?”

“This is the only thing we have to go on,” she said, huffing. “Either it’s a temporary boon on an item, which would explain why the elemental is being so overwhelmed, or it’s some kind of contract and we’re all going to die.”

Nino swallowed audibly.

“We—What do you propose we do about it?” asked Adrien, incredulous, “We’re children! We’ve got maybe a third of our homeroom and no teacher—whatever that thing is, it blew a hole in a magically reinforced wall! It’s using the magic of a dead member of the court of the aos sídhe—”

“If we don’t stop it,” said Marinette, “it’s going to destroy everything. Everyone in this building. I don’t know what you can sense or feel or whatever, but I can tell you for sure there’s no one having any emotions out there besides that thing. Not anymore. It’s just us. If we work together, all of us, we can stop it. We can fix this.”

“We don’t even know that it’s a booned item,” Adrien protested.

“I’ve got a hunch—and luck’s on my side.”

He couldn’t feel anyone either.

Was school going to end so soon after he got to experience it for the very first time? Was he going to have to watch his friends…

No.

“Alright,” he said grimly. “I’m with you.”

She beamed at him.

“Anybody else?” he asked the other students, looking up to find them all nodding solemnly.

Alix scooted over to them, thrusting her hand into their midst. Alya, taking the cue, stacked her hand on top—then Nino, then Ivan, then Marinette. Adrien laid a paw atop the pile, while Juleka hovered her hand against it.

“Let’s do this,” said Alix, with a slightly manic grin.

Adrien swallowed.

He missed his old expectations.

“This is great and all,” said Nino, voice tight with stress, “but do we have a plan? I’m freaking out a little and the moon is like, barely waning. Need some structure in my life, here.”

“I’m working on it,” said Marinette, gaze distant and blank. Her magic was beginning to settle, and Adrien, hyperaware of his ability to sense it, was fascinated. Even in stillness, Marinette’s magic had a presence to it, a tangibility he could hardly believe he hadn’t noticed before. As it quieted it revealed an unexpected depth, like ripples settling on a pond—and in a similar vein, he could see his own magic reflected back at him.

Her magic was coolness and shadows, the pull of the tides, the sound of the rain, soft and measured and gentle. He wanted to lie down and soak in it. Was all witch magic like this?

Not for the first time, he wished he knew what he had done to piss off the witches. His running theory was that Plagg did something irritating, and he was collateral damage.

He should probably focus on whatever was _currently_ trying to murder him.

“She went a bit south,” he informed the group at large. Nino looked to Alya, who sighed and pointed south.

Maybe he should say things like ‘left’ next time.

“Okay,” said Marinette. “I think I’ve got something. Nino, Ivan, and Adrien: go down to the ground floor. You’re going to be our close range combatants.”

“See, I can’t help but notice that’s got the word ‘combat’ in it—”

“If everything goes well, you’ll just be standing around,” said Marinette, silencing Nino with a look. “If she’s an elemental, we’re going to be dealing with long-range stuff. Adrien, could you tell what element?”

“Uh, a water and air combo,” said Adrien, wincing a little. Combination elementals were rare, but tended to pack a wallop. He really wasn’t looking forward to this, no matter what the plan was.

“Good,” said Marinette, grinning.

Her classmates stared at her as if she’d begun speaking in tongues.

“I have a plan!” she insisted, huffing at them. “Ivan, you can do like, magma fists, right?”

“Yeah, but if I get hit with water it’s just rocks and steam,” said Ivan, rather dubiously. “If it was just wind I’d be okay, you know, I think that’s why I didn’t get blown over. ‘M too heavy.”

“Just checking,” said Marinette. “Okay, Juleka and Alya—I want you out on whatever’s left of the walkways. You’re gonna be our distractions. Little illusions, nothing too flashy—you want to draw her attention, but not make her suspicious.”

“You’re asking me to not be flashy?” asked Alya, sounding almost insulted. “Marinette. Who do you think I am?”

“You’re the best, and will therefore listen to your beloved friend when she asks you to pretty please keep the illusions believable.”

“Oh, fine,” said Alya. “But I’ll have you know, flashy is a lot more distracting than—”

Marinette put a finger on Alya’s mouth without looking at her, effectively ending her speech.

“Alix, you’re with me. We’re going in high. Everybody keep your phones turned on so we can communicate,” said Marinette, pulling out her own and flipping through the screen.

“Uh,” said Adrien, “I don’t have a phone. Or opposable thumbs.”

Marinette clicked her tongue, frowning, then dug into her bag. Adrien exchanged a nervous glance with Nino, who shrugged at him.

“Here!” she said triumphantly after a moment, fishing a length of bright red ribbon from a side pocket. Before Adrien could ask what she was talking about, she’d looped it around his shoulders. He made a small, indignant mew as she tied it into a—well, not a bow exactly, but a knot that left him with lengths of ribbon brushing his chest.

“ _Excuse me,”_ he protested. He didn’t pull away despite his confusion; he was sure she had a plan, he just wanted to know what it was.

“Hold on,” said Marinette, both hands going up to her left ear, removing an earring the same shade of scarlet as the ribbon. It had little black spots on it, almost like—

“Is that a _ladybug?_ ” blurted Adrien, delighted.

“An _enchanted_ ladybug,” she corrected, rolling her eyes at him. “My mom made them. If you touch the center dot and speak, I’ll be able to hear you.” She secured the earring on the back of the ribbon, then turned the entire makeshift collar so that it was against his throat and the eye-catching semi-bow was perched above his shoulder blades.

“Cute _and_ helpful,” said Adrien, purring as he tapped it experimentally with a paw.

“You talking about the earrings, or Marinette?” asked Nino with a devious smirk.

“Maybe hold off on broadcasting just purring sounds,” Marinette cut in with a laugh. 

“Testing, testing,” he purred a little louder, “1, 2, 3.”

“I’ll add the rest of you to a group text,” said Marinette, finally electing to ignore him entirely. “If you see anything, or the plan changes, update it. I’ll keep Adrien posted.”

“Why do I feel like this is going to go horribly wrong?” Nino muttered as they all got cautiously to their feet.

“Anxiety,” Alya supplied.

While the rest of the students looked nervous (and perhaps a little queasy,) Alya was brimming with excitement, her grin a bit too sharp to be entirely human. At some point two bright bottlebrush tails had appeared beneath her jacket, twitching as though she were suppressing the urge to wag them.

“I don’t have ‘anxiety’ I’m totally chill and very reasonably concerned!” Nino hissed at her.

“Anxiety isn’t _un_ reasonable…” said Juleka, a little uncertainly.

“Oh, well, no,” Nino amended immediately, “I—I just meant that _I’m_ not—that I don’t have… uh… oh my god, I have anxiety.”

“And we love and support you,” said Alya, giving the brim of his hat a reassuring pat, ignoring his half-hearted scowl.

“You know, if I ever want a therapist—”

“Are you _not_ in therapy?” Alix asked, spinning on her heel to cast him a horrified look. “Dude.”

“What am I supposed to do? Just clear my weirdly hectic schedule, waltz into their office and say, ‘What’s up Doc, I’m a werewolf, wanna dissect my personal issues and get me real upset? There’s only like an eighty percent chance it’ll end in—’”

**_THWOOM._ **

This explosion was much louder than the one that had taken out their classroom wall.

Ivan braced himself in front of them, and they all leapt into an impromptu chain, forming a sort of defensive conga line. Adrien dug his claws into Nino’s shirt with a small growl, squeezing his eyes shut against the blast of wind. It was colder than he had been expecting, causing his fur to automatically stand on end.

“Did she see us?” murmured Juleka, who didn’t appear to be affected by either the gust or its temperature, floating a few feet away and peering into the courtyard.

“I don’t think so,” said Alix. “Think she just got kinda pissed off and blasted like, everything.”

“Where is she?” asked Alya, straining to see over Ivan’s shoulder.

“Middle of the courtyard, but she’s facing the other way,” he answered.

“Alright, break,” said Marinette, immediately taking off with Alix towards the front of the school.

“God damn it,” Nino muttered, clutching the back of Ivan’s shirt like a lost toddler as the three of them made a much slower bid for the stairs.

“Don’t die!” Alya stage-whispered after them, waving from where she had crouched behind the banister.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Nino hissed back, turning his hat backwards. He reminded Adrien of Ash, preparing to battle. He resettled on Nino’s shoulders with a slight frown—that sort of made him Pikachu.

Pikachu, who got beat up.

Like, a lot.

Fuck.

“Adrien, I need you to get away from Nino,” came a slightly muffled version of Marinette’s voice. Adrien jumped as it issued from his makeshift collar, barely suppressing a yelp. He was on edge enough as it was; this was pushing it.

“How far?” he whispered into the earring, lifting one paw off of Nino to press the button.

“Far enough that she’d have to use more than one move to blast you both.”

“You told Nino nobody was gonna get blasted!”

“I told Nino that if everything went well, you wouldn’t get blasted. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t prepare for a worse case scenario.”

“You mean _worst_ case scenario?”

“No, because in the worst case scenario, we all die. I don’t really know how to plan for that—the necromancers are unconscious.”

“I take it back, don’t plan for the worst case scenario,” said Adrien, shuddering as his fur tried to stand on end. “It’s giving me the heebie jeebies.” 

“The what now?”

“The heebie jeebies. The jitters. The creeps. The—”

“Stop,” Marinette interrupted with a groan. “I get it.”

“Do people not say heebie jeebies anymore?” he asked innocently.

“Did they ever say it to begin with?”

“Beats me. The aos sídhe love it, though.”

“Well, go love it someplace that isn’t Nino’s neck. We need better coverage.”

“You got it,” he agreed, laughing. He gave Nino’s jaw an affectionate headbutt, prompting the werewolf to stick out his tongue, and then leapt soundlessly to the floor.

When he wanted to be silent, Adrien could be silent.

He drifted under the walkways like a shadow, every pawstep taking him further from the comfort and safety of his friends. He felt simultaneously exposed and invisible, vulnerable to any attack and yet impossible to find in the first place.

Overhead, Alya had begun to work her magic (bother literal and figurative). From his position under one of the staircases, Adrien could see a flash of orange twisting out of the reach of what appeared to be hailstones, cackling insults in Alya’s voice.

The elemental—or whatever it was now—was shaking with rage, shrieking in a voice so high it hurt Adrien’s ears. She clutched a dark umbrella in one hand, and wherever she cast it, a type of precipitation formed and did as she bade.

“How dare you!” she screamed, hurling more hail at the illusion of Alya, which ducked and wove neatly out of the way, as if it were tangible. Adrien could only tell it wasn’t because it accidentally clipped through the railing a few times, like a bad video game.

‘Stormy Weather’ was too angry to notice.

“I’m owed that award!” she went on. “They don’t know what I’m capable of!”

“Oh, and you’re going to show them?” called Alya, rolling her eyes. “This isn’t you! You’re cheating!”

“Shut up!” shrieked Stormy Weather, hitting the entire wall with a gust of wind so strong the windows behind Alya shattered. Her illusion flickered, and Stormy Weather finally seemed to catch on, narrowed eyes latching onto the fake kitsune.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of either,” she hissed, “You’re teasing me!”

“You’re damn right I am!” said Alya, her tails waving behind her like banners. “You’re a joke! You couldn’t hit the ground if you turned into rain!”

Stormy Weather offered no reply, wheeling back towards the classroom they had been in when this had all started. Adrien could sense Alya’s magic just inside the door, and swallowed nervously—had Nooroo’s own tracking abilities transferred?

Her illusion hesitated, raising an arm to catch Stormy Weather’s attention, to no avail.

Adrien’s heart thudded in his ears.

_Alya._

“Hey!” came a shout from above them.

Adrien and Stormy Weather looked up at the same moment, with drastically different reactions. Stormy Weather’s face contorted in a sour rage, while Adrien’s lit up in delight.

Overhead, Marinette hovered astride one of the brooms from the flight class, scowling down at the courtyard. Squatting behind her, perched like a gargoyle ready to pounce, Alix pulled faces at her fellow elemental with an eager aggression.

“ _What?”_ demanded Stormy Weather, raising the umbrella in front of her.

“You—you, um—”

“FUCK YOU!” Alix finished for Marinette, cupping her hands over her mouth to increase her volume. Stormy Weather howled, swinging the umbrella like a baseball bat.

Alix sprang to her feet, somehow maintaining her balance on the narrow broom, and swung her arms downward as if using a sledgehammer, summoning a huge burst of wind to counteract the wall of biting ice Stormy Weather had blown their way. The two gusts met just above the line of the roof with an enormous rumble, not unlike thunder, and Adrien felt his whiskers crackle under the magic.

Marinette held the broom steady with one hand, the other going to her ear.

“I think it’s safe to say that umbrella is the boon,” said the earring around his neck.

“Yeah, good call,” he sent back, eyes flickering from one elemental to the other as Alix and Stormy Weather traded blows.

Despite the majority of her attacks being deflected, there was a noticeable effect on the flying duo: It was getting cold up there.

Frost gathered around the tail of the broom, and even from the ground Adrien could see how red the girls’ noses were getting. Anxiously, he looked across the courtyard, meeting Nino’s frightened gaze.

 _What should I do?_ he mouthed to Adrien, shifting from one foot to the other, barely holding the change at bay.

Adrien shook his head, watching the scene unfold with a growing sense of dread. Marinette couldn’t communicate with any of them, steering the broom with both hands, so they were left to make their own plan.

When Alix almost got clobbered by an apple-sized hailstone when she had to take a break to sneeze, Nino sprang into action.

Swearing loudly, he raced into the center of the courtyard, waving his arms over his head and bouncing up and down to get Stormy Weather’s attention.

Slowly, so slowly, she turned to stare down at him with pale lavender eyes.

“You, uh—you shouldn’t—I—”

“You suck!” yelled his voice, though it seemed to be coming from where Adrien had last seen Alya’s illusion.

“What was that?” growled Stormy Weather, squinting down at him.

“You—you’re a big cheating cheater,” squeaked the real Nino, “who cheats!”

“I’ve never cheated!” she fumed.

“You’re cheating like, right now!” said Nino. Above them, Marinette slowly inched the broom to safety, nodding at Nino when he glanced nervously up at her. “I bet you couldn’t beat us without your fancy pants parasol!”

“This simply focuses my powers!” Stormy Weather protested, opening the umbrella like a shield in front of her.

“Yeah, sure,” said Nino, making a show of rolling his eyes. “Who told you that? The Mayor of Wrongsville?”

“No! Piseóg gave it to me!” said Stormy Weather. Adrien’s ears flicked forward.

Now that was interesting.

“Oh, sorry, is that the Mayor of Wrongsville? I’m behind the times, politically. Sort of got turned into a wolf last election season.”

“It’s none of your business!” she said hotly, raising the umbrella to strike. Nino gave a small _eep!_ and scrambled back towards the cover of the balcony, but to no avail—Stormy Weather wasn’t aiming for him.

She blasted the floor beneath their feet, and a sheet of ice rolled across it, slinking beneath Nino’s feet and sending him sprawling backwards. He landed heavily on one hip.

“Ow!” he protested indignantly, scowling up at her.

Stormy Weather locked eyes with him, and raised her umbrella to strike.

There was a small _ding!_ that echoed across the courtyard as four people got the same text message at once. Nino glanced away from Stormy Weather to his pocket. He looked back at her, held up a finger to indicate she should wait, and fished out his phone.

Stormy Weather gaped in deeply affronted silence, closing the umbrella with a snap, and wound up to swing as Nino began typing out a reply.

Ivan surged out of the shelter beneath the balcony, raising arms covered in fire in front of his face as he stepped between Nino and Stormy Weather. The torrent of hail she’d conjured collided with the flames with a loud hiss and an immediate cloud of steam that practically exploded off of Ivan.

Recoiling with a displeased hiss almost as loud as the steam’s, Stormy Weather propelled herself backwards across the courtyard, nearly colliding with an icicle-coated basketball hoop in her haste to get away.

The steam spread itself evenly as Ivan’s warmth reached the ice-slick floor, cloaking the boys in a thick brume that disguised their retreat back under the walkways. Nino, who was being carried over Ivan’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, sent a jaunty wave Adrien’s way.

Adrien grinned in relief, sliding through the shallow puddles across the middle of the courtyard, shaking his paws with every soggy step. The steam was warm against his fur, but it clung unpleasantly and threatened to form drops of condensation on his whiskers.

“Oh!” said a soft voice above him, and he looked up at the gentle tone, expecting Marinette.

It wasn’t Marinette.

“A cat,” said Stormy Weather, softer than they’d heard her speak throughout the entire ordeal. She floated towards him slowly, the umbrella held slack in one hand, tantalizingly close.

A second _ding!_ sounded from every direction, as if heralding the figurative lightbulb that had just appeared over his head. The noise bolstered his courage; he had backup.

“Mrrow?” he called, letting his voice roll into an almost-purr as he delicately approached Stormy Weeather, where she drifted just out of reach about a third of the way down the court.

“Here, kitty,” she cooed, touching down and dropping into a crouch, holding her free hand out to Adrien. He approached slowly, hesitantly, sniffing at her fingers as if they might zap him at any moment.

Which, to be fair, they might.

Stormy Weather clucked encouragingly at him, reaching out to tentatively brush the side of his face with the palm of her hand. He leaned into the contact with a loud purr, arching his body so she got his back. Her hand was freezing, though fortunately not literally, and he tried to keep it along his spine where he could put up with it more.

As he wound his way around her knees, he saw her grip tighten ominously on the umbrella.

She suddenly stood, whirling despite Adrien’s yowl of protest, summoning a huge burst of freezing air at whoever had been sneaking up on her that Adrien hadn’t noticed to warn, and—

Juleka blinked in surprise, floating peacefully exactly where she’d been a moment before, none the worse for wear. Stormy Weather blinked back, obviously confused.

“Um,” Juleka said softly, pushing a lock of hair from her eyes and glancing Adrien’s way, “Marinette says, ‘now.’”

Adrien sprang immediately to his feet, surging back into his human form and snatching Stormy Weather’s umbrella from her gloved hands. She shrieked in shock and fury, wheeling on him instantly, but he danced away, breaking into a sprint as he turned and—

slammed heavily into the pavement as he slipped in one of the puddles.

His knees took the brunt of the impact, and he could feel the sting of loose gravel in one, his torn jeans sopping wet from the collision. His breath caught in pain, and he glanced over his shoulder to see a fuming Stormy Weather stalking towards him like _she_ was the cat, and he was the prey.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hugging the umbrella to his chest, shielding it with his body, hoping he’d bought somebody enough time to do _something—_

There was a tremendous crash, and the ground shook beneath him, and everything grew still.


	7. Body and Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. To begin I'd like to apologize for the long stretch between updates. As those of you following my tumblr may know, I'm currently studying abroad, which is going shockingly well tbh but unfortunately my 10-9:30 class schedule leaves not so much time for writing. Well actually, that's not entirely true--there would be enough time for writing if I hadn't instead become a vigilante animal cop and taken over the care and keeping of no fewer than 9 cats and a pair of donkeys.
> 
> The good news is, my 10-9:30 class schedule leaves a LOT of time for daydreaming, so I've worked out the plot for almost this whole fic. We're gonna be introducing some new characters soon & I'm very excited about it but also terrified it'll bore the hell out of you so!! Pray for some good writing y'all 'cause lord knows I can't do it on my own

For a moment, Adrien lay still, every muscle in his body braced for impact.

An impact that didn’t seem to be coming.

He opened one eye a crack.

Nothing.

He opened his other eye.

Still nothing.

“Am I dead?” he asked as he gingerly uncurled, hands still clamped onto the umbrella.

“Trust me,” said Juleka, hovering a few feet away, “you’d know.”

“You’re fine,” tutted Alya, leaping from the walkway of the second floor as if it were nothing, jacket flaring behind her like (admittedly very tiny) wings. “Well, okay, that fall looked like it hurt, and your feet might be cold, but otherwise: You’re fine.”

Adrien rolled onto his back, pushing himself into a sitting position to inspect his knees. Both of his pant legs had been ripped, and he had a decent abrasion on the right one, but his left knee was bleeding more freely, and looked a bit like raw meat. He swallowed uncomfortably and looked away.

The back of his hand was scraped too, but not very badly—his knees had taken the brunt of the impact. He was mostly glad it hadn’t been his face.

“What happened?” he asked the courtyard at large, staring around in a half-daze. Everyone seemed a good deal calmer, but there did appear to be a basketball hoop embedded in the pavement on the other side of the court, with two white and purple feet just visible behind the edge.

It was all very Wizard of Oz.

“You and Juleka distracted her while Ivan heated up the chain holding the basketball hoop,” Marinette explained, offering him a hand up. He took it, gripping her forearm more than her palm so she wouldn’t exacerbate his wound, and raised an eyebrow.

She gave a world-weary sigh as she hauled him to his feet. “It was hanging too loosely to just be broken, but the difference in temperature was enough that he could just crush it in his hand.”

“The difference in… oh! Yeah! It was all covered in ice!” said Adrien, grinning. “So he used his magma hands or… wait—why?”

“Metal gets brittle when it’s cold,” said Ivan, who was standing on the edge of the court, shrugging, “but not so brittle I could snap a chain designed to be jostled.”

Adrien stared.

“It’s science, man,” said Nino from behind him. “It makes _sense,_ remember? Stop thinking about it like it’s magic.”

“Doesn’t make any sense at all if you ask me,” muttered Adrien. “So like… is… is she… okay?”

“Did we straight up murder her, you mean?” asked Alix from over by the basketball hoop. “Nah, she’s just unconscious. Actually have to applaud Ivan on his aim, here. Sort of a ‘nothing but net’ scenario.” She span the entire backboard around with one heel, revealing a banged-up looking Stormy Weather crammed into the hoop itself, arms pinned to her sides.

“So uh—what now?” asked Nino, looking between Marinette and (for some reason) Adrien.

“How am _I_ supposed to know?” he asked nervously, clutching the umbrella a bit tighter to his chest.

“Well I dunno dude, you’re the one with the magic sensing! What’s her deal now she’s passed out? Still got sídhe vibes or whatever?”

“Oh!” said Adrien, blinking. “Right.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and doing his best to focus. While there were some lingering traces of aos sídhe magic layered on Stormy Weather, the umbrella itself seemed… completely mundane, in stark contrast to their earlier theories.

“I… I think whoever was holding the connection must have… withdrawn?” he said, opening his eyes again to frown around in confusion. “The umbrella is just an umbrella again, and she’s got some residue but it’s more like… I dunno, it’s faint. It’s like the magic from making a deal.”

“So we were right about the item having been a boon?” asked Marinette, frowning back at him.

“I think so,” he said uncertainly. “I don’t really—oh!”

“Oh?”

“She said Piseóg!”

“Yeah, any chance you know him?” asked Alya, raising an eyebrow. She had moved to stand beside Marinette, one hip cocked, arms folded expectantly over her chest.

“Well… it’s not really a name,” Adrien confessed. “I mean, she used it like one, so maybe somebody’s calling themselves that, but it’s like—superstition. Or a curse. Depending on context. I think it’s Irish.”

“So it was definitely a sídhe?” asked Nino, turning his hat back around.

“I dunno,” he said. “Whoever killed Nooroo knew enough about us to have picked up a few words here and there pretty easy.”

“What about the glamor on the umbrella?”

Adrien blinked, looking over at Marinette. “The what?”

“The glamor. That’s what’s making it look all… fancy, right?” she said uncertainly. “I’ve never seen an umbrella like that one.”

He looked down at the umbrella in his hands. Now that it was free of ice, it was a rusty red color, with black, blue, and yellow eyespots that shone towards the outer edges, iridescent and shining, almost like—

“Oh,” he said softly, opening the umbrella and holding it up to the light to watch it shimmer. “It looks like a peacock butterfly.”

“A what now?” asked Nino, glaring at the bright patterns.

“ _Paon du jour,_ ” supplied Alya. “So are we fighting a butterfly, or a peacock?”

“I don’t know that we should classify it as either,” Marinette disagreed, “I mean, Nooroo was essentially a butterfly sídhe, right?” She looked to Adrien for confirmation.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, “and I mean, he was based in Ireland. Peacocks are some of the most common butterflies they’ve got. ‘Side from little turtles and painted ladies.”

“So it could be that it’s only butterflied because of Nooroo,” she pointed out, gesturing at the umbrella. “Do you think he could still use it?”

“Not unless he makes it a boon again,” said Adrien. “Which, I mean, he could—he got all that magic back the second he broke the connection.”

Alya gave a low oath, and Nino groaned, rubbing his face with an exhausted expression.

“So,” said Alix, from her perch atop the downed backboard, “do you think school is cancelled?”

“Even if it isn’t, I’m going home,” said Marinette. She was still frowning, worry lining her face as she looked between the umbrella and Stormy Weather. “Ivan, could you watch her while Juleka goes to find a teacher that isn’t unconscious? The rest of you should come back with me; my mother’s great with healing.”

“I’m gonna hang out and help Ivan,” said Alix, shrugging. “I never really got to clock her for trying to blast me with my own damn element.”

“Suit yourself,” said Marinette, laughing sincerely. She turned to the front of the school, Nino and Alya falling wordlessly into step behind her while Juleka floated towards the potions room immediately.

Adrien hesitated.

They didn’t notice until they got to the front doors, but then Marinette turned around, blinking, and smiled at him—a wide, reassuring smile.

“Here, kitty kitty,” she called, laughing.

He ran after them without another thought.

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

The bell jangled merrily as they entered, and the rush of warm air accented the chill at their backs. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a simple bakery—if it weren’t for having met Marinette, and for the hum of magic in the air, Adrien might have thought it was.

“I’m home!” Marinette announced to the room at large, which seemed empty aside from the various baked goods and counters. “I brought Alya and Nino and—”

“Cat sídhe,” came a rumbling voice. From behind the counter rose a truly massive man with a bushy mustache and a stony expression. Only the color of his eyes and the dusting of freckles across his nose gave any indication of his relation to Marinette. Magic and the smell of bears rolled off him in waves.

“What—” Marinette began, confused, only to be interrupted by a diminutive woman entering the room at a brisk stride.

 “ _Blond_ cat sídhe,” she said, in the same tone as her husband. They stood shoulder to shoulder (or more accurately, shoulder to diaphragm), watching Adrien like pale-eyed hawks.

“Yeah,” said Marinette, making a face at them. “This is the new student, Adrien. He’s—”

“Adrien what?”

“What?”

“What’s his last name?”

“I don’t know!” said Marinette, groaning. “Does it matter?”

“That depends entirely on what it is,” said her father, making eye contact with Adrien, who straightened his posture a little.

“Uh, I—”

“You guys are being weird,” said Marinette, scowling now. “I’m perfectly capable of—”

“Marinette,” said her mother, and Marinette closed her mouth, scowl melting into a frown of concern.

“Adrien of the meadow carline,” Adrien supplied in a rush, before anyone else could break the silence. “Born at Maen Du, fostered by Plagg of Oweynagat—”

“Plagg? As in Phláig mac Irusan?” Marinette’s mother asked, visibly relaxing.

“Y-yeah,” stammered Adrien, looking between her and her husband in bewilderment. The man’s fierce face was changed drastically by the smile that was growing there—his cheeks looked warmer, his shoulders softened as the tension melted away, and he leaned into his wife slightly. Adrien hadn’t realized his posture had been so defensive until it was gone. His resemblance to Marinette increased dramatically with the friendlier expression. “Do, uh—do you guys know Plagg?”

“In a loose sense of the word know,” said Marinette’s mother, chuckling.

“So _that’s_ how he knew my name!” Marinette exclaimed, hitting a fist against an open palm.

“ _You_ know Plagg?” asked her father in surprise.

“In a loose sense of the word know,” Marinette echoed slyly, prancing over and kissing them both on the cheek. “What’s the matter with you two? You were acting like he was going to eat us or something.”

“There’s been a lot of strange things happening with the aos sídhe this week,” her mother explained, unabashed. With Marinette standing between her and her husband, it became clear how short she truly was—something in the way she held herself had made her appear at least the same height as her daughter.

“Better safe than dead,” said the husband, grinning down at them.

“I think I’d know if he was the murderer,” Marinette protested. “I mean, the emotion thing alone… Don’t you trust my judgment?”

“We always trust you,” said her mother fondly. She turned back to Adrien, Alya, and Nino, who were still clustered awkwardly in the foyer. “I’m sorry, Adrien. We’re letting our paranoia get the better of us. I’m Sabine, and this is Tom—please, feel free to come by any time.”

The warm sincerity in her voice helped Adrien relax despite his lingering questions; it was impossible to bear a grudge against a welcome wagon so transparently apologetic.

“Thank you,” he said, perhaps a little too formally, but hell, he was nervous. He just got stared down by an enormous muscleman who smelled strongly of bear. To say nothing of his somehow even more intimidating wife.

“Oh, and um—speaking of strange things happening with the aos sídhe,” said Alya, looking pointedly at Marinette.

“Oh, yeah, uh… we kind of… got attacked?”

“ _What?”_ hissed Sabine, rearing back to look her now wincing daughter in the face, sharp gray eyes scanning for any sign of injury.

“To be fair, they weren’t attacking us directly,” Nino supplied, taking off his cap and twisting it in his hands. “We just sort of, uh… stepped up.”

“Where were your teachers?” Sabine demanded. Satisfied that Marinette was unharmed, she began scrutinizing the other three, zeroing in on Adrien’s knees with an unhappy tutting. Immediately, she headed for the back, not waiting for an answer.

“Uh… they were unconscious,” said Marinette, looking between the back and her father, who was frowning somewhat anxiously.

“Why didn’t you call us?” he asked, visibly tightening his grip on her shoulder. “Or Marlena, or Plagg?”

“We didn’t want to put you in danger,” said Alya. Adrien blinked; he just hadn’t thought of it.

Honestly, even if he had, he wouldn’t have done anything differently—Alya was right. If whatever this thing was could kill Nooroo, Plagg would be in jeopardy too, even as a member of the court. Maybe _especially_ as a member of the court.

“Please put us in danger if there’s ever something like this again,” said Tom, grimacing. “I’m sure the four of you are a formidable team, but—”

“Oh, some of the other students helped,” Alya rushed to assure him. “Alix and Ivan and Juleka. If it was just the four of us I think even Marinette might have had trouble coming up with a plan.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” said Marinette, wrinkling her nose at her best friend and burrowing farther into her father’s side. “I’ll have you know, my luck is foolproof.”

“It most certainly is not,” Sabine put in sharply, bustling back into the front of house with a small kit and coming around the corner, gesturing Adrien up onto the counter. He complied immediately with a nervous gulp, rubbing his fingers against his palms to try to dispel some of the sweat. “You can’t depend on your luck, Marinette. It can only get you so far.”

“I was _kidding,_ Maman,” she groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation. “I’m _very aware_ that luck runs out—you’re talking to the clumsiest witch in Paris, remember?”

Sabine didn’t respond, simply tutting some more and opening her kit on the counter next to Adrien. He started to roll his pant legs up over his knees, but she stopped him with a shake of her head, pulling out an elegant, dark-wooded wand instead. She cut the fabric on both legs neatly, just above the knee.

He really hoped she was good at fixing pants. He looked a little ridiculous.

“Is there any particular reason Adrien here is wearing one of your earrings?” she asked Marinette with one arched eyebrow, fingers hovering over the loose red ribbon that still adorned his neck.

“He doesn’t have a phone,” explained Marinette with a shrug.

“Just as well,” Nino put in, “you’ve stolen everyone elses’s like four times at this point.”

“Listen, I lead a very hectic life—”

“What’s this?” Sabine interrupted, fingers drifting to Adrien’s second neck adornment, a small golden bell on a black cord.

“Oh,” he said, blinking as he looked down at where it hung on his chest, “that was my mother’s. She had a lot, I guess. It’s pretty common for the aos sídhe, either you love bells or you can’t _stand_ them. Got to be a lot of trouble when they started building cathedrals and things, actually. Church bells or something.”

“But your mother liked them?” asked Sabine, smiling at him with a warmth that surprised him, even in the face of their earlier hospitality.

“She loved them,” he affirmed softly. “Plagg says she used to tie them in her hair.”

Sabine smiled over his shoulder at Tom, then began to inspect his wounds. He allowed himself a cursory glance; his right was still stinging, and his left was still pulverized. The blood on that leg had actually been pouring for a while before it stopped bleeding—there were huge streaks of crimson down his calf, matting up his (admittedly sparse) leg hair and pooling in an unpleasant crust at the top of his sock.

He was torn between ‘ew’ and ‘ow’.

She pulled a vial of something purple from the kit she’d brought out, removing a square of gauze and tipping the liquid onto it, which she then began using to dab at the dried blood. It came away clean, no smears, no weird bleach marks on his sock—it tickled against his skin, the magic buzzing like the wings of an insect.

When she got to the wound itself, Sabine applied a second potion to the gauze, this one a pale green, and pressed it evenly but firmly against his knee, holding it in place with the palm of her hand. Adrien let out a hissing breath from between his clenched jaws; it stung, but less like an injury and more like the shock of touching ice water. He adjusted quickly, and could feel his skin writhing beneath the gauze, and the magic pressing insistently into his bones.

“That should do it,” said Sabine finally, removing the gauze to reveal his knee, good as new.

Well, mostly good as new. His old scars were still in place, and his pants were wrecked, and everything smelled like dock leaves and spells, but otherwise perfect.

His right leg was much quicker to fix, just a quick swipe of the gauze and he was all patched up. She fixed his pants with a single wave of her wand, and he hopped off the counter with a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Madame,” he said formally, bowing his head a little. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing, dear,” said Sabine, smiling back at him. “Now why don’t you kids run along upstairs? I’ll close up the back and come fix you some lunch.”

“Oh, shoot,” said Marinette, frowning, “I left the pastries back in the classroom.”

“Yeah,” said Nino, in a very high, slightly strangled voice, “I definitely didn’t eat all of them already, no sir.”

“Nino!” Alya scolded, swatting his arm.

“Look, _you_ try a full physical transformation sometime! Unlike _some_ people, I can’t just go all ‘bippity boppity boo’ and poof! Be a wolf. We’re talking serious carb requirements here,” Nino protested, patting his stomach. “You have any idea how much mass I gotta put on, man? It’s ridiculous.”

“A nightmare,” Tom agreed from behind the counter, gesturing them all through the shop. “My transformations are physical too, he’s not exaggerating. You need to bulk up, son.”

“I’m doing my best, dude,” said Nino. He heaved a dramatic sigh. “I miss grapes. You know I can’t eat grapes now?”

“What about chocolate?” Adrien asked, laughing as he followed the girls up the stairs. Nino trailed behind him with a wistful expression, shaking his head.

“It’s not so bad as people say, but it does make me kind of sick. Won’t stop me, though.”

“Of course not.”

“How ‘bout you, man? Any weird cat allergies?”

“I’m allergic to feathers, but that’s it,” said Adrien, shrugging. “Weirdly it’s worse when I’m in human form, even though my nose is better as a cat. I think it might be a magic thing.”

“With you, everything is,” said Alya from the landing ahead of them, grinning down at them. “You boys ready for the full Dupain-Cheng experience?”

“I’ve been here before,” said Nino, scowling at her.

“Yeah, but they didn’t feed you,” Alya teased, slipping through the door sideways so it wouldn’t open too fast and reveal more than she wanted them to see. “Adrien, close your eyes.”

“Really?” he asked nervously. Nino sighed in exasperation beside him.

“Go on,” she prompted. He obliged, licking his suddenly dry lips, and Nino steered him through the door.

“Alright, one… two… three!”

Adrien opened his eyes and blinked, taking in the apartment before him.

It was about the same size as the main room of his sídhe, but infinitely… brighter. Instead of cool stone and weathered wood it was full of warm and inviting furniture, all straight lines and soft edges. It wasn’t magic in itself, but it was filled with the scent and feeling of Marinette and her family, and a sense of affection seemed to linger in the walls. A smile spread across Adrien’s face as he walked in, looking around to take it all in. It smelled like sugar cookies and cinnamon and honey.

He lingered at the foot of a staircase, peering around the corner into a charming, overwhelmingly pink kitchen, where Marinette and Alya were giggling about something. Probably him.

“You have a lovely home,” he told Marinette, sincerely (if somewhat formally).

“Thanks,” she said, laughing. “How are your knees?”

“Much better,” he assured her. Nino slipped past him, hopping onto a stool that sat on the other side of the counter. Adrien followed a little hesitantly, pulling his out all the way instead of scooting it back once he was in it. “Your mother must be very talented.”

“She is,” said Marinette, grinning, without a trace of humility. “Potions are her specialty. She sells them out the back of the bakery.”

“Potions require very little magic,” said her mother, entering through the front door. “It is for the most part a mix of natural medicines and magical ingredients. They’re far less taxing, in my opinion, than any spell with a similar purpose—I prefer to store my magic for charms.” She looked pointedly at Adrien’s neck, and he blushed, realizing he was still wearing the earring.

He pulled the ribbon off with both hands, handing it sheepishly back to Marinette, who smiled as she took it and immediately put the earring back in her ear.

“You’re gonna get an infection if you keep doing that,” Alya chastised. “It’s covered in cat germs.”

“Yeah, if only it were enchanted or something,” said Marinette, rolling her eyes. She wrapped her arms around Sabine’s shoulders, tucking her head into the space under her jaw and burrowing slightly. “Thank you, Maman. It came in very handy.”

“I’m sorry it had to,” said Sabine, expression darkening. Adrien winced. He hoped she wasn’t too mad—so far he really liked Marinette’s parents, and he wanted to make a good impression. “Does anyone want to tell me what happened?”

“I mean, not really?” said Marinette, wincing.

“Let me rephrase: Which of you is going to tell me what happened?”

“We’re not sure, ma’am,” said Adrien, after a moment’s hesitation. He exchanged guilty looks with the other teenagers—it was too late now. They’d made their bed.

“But it was one of the aos sídhe?” asked Sabine.

“We, uh—we don’t know. Whoever and whatever it is was using the magic of a very recently murdered member of the court, so it seems… likely?”

“Murdered?” Sabine asked softly.

“Oh, uh—Nooroo. He was found dead yesterday,” said Adrien, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“Ah,” said Sabine, closing her eyes. “I had heard he died, but I didn’t know it was… How?”

“They aren’t sure,” said Marinette, “but his magic was stolen.”

“Stolen? How?”

“…We’re not sure,” said Adrien. Suppressing a shudder, he remembered his nightmare—a pale hand reaching out—

“Adrien?” Marinette said softly. “Are you okay?”

“Oh,” he mumbled, looking down, embarrassed. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I was just—thinking about that dream again.”

“Dream?” Sabine asked, just as soft as her daughter.

“I had a dream—a nightmare, really—that I was there when it happened,” he confessed, licking his suddenly dry lips. “There was this voice, and—it was me, but it like _wasn’t_ me, you know, and it was saying it had ‘found them’ and the aos sídhe don’t have souls or something, but…”

“Don’t have souls?” Nino asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “I dunno about that, man. You all seem pretty lively to me.”

“I dunno about it either,” said Adrien, shrugging helplessly. “It doesn’t really come up.”

“It depends on your conception of a soul,” said Sabine. “Most French people would say it’s vitality—life force. An intangible energy.”

“Isn’t it?” asked Nino.

“If that were so, a body without a soul would simply be a husk—a shell with no hermit crab, so to speak,” said Sabine. She reached out, Marinette’s arms still around her, and beckoned Alya into their embrace. “But a soul can exist independently.”

Alya’s hand went automatically to her necklace.

“So if something happened to Alya’s soul, she wouldn’t just wind up a ‘husk’?” asked Nino, brightening.

“No, I would,” said Alya. “It’s more that it isn’t physically constrained, you know? I could take all sorts of damage and survive, as long as my soul was safe.”

“Which gets back to the sídhe,” said Nino, frowning at Adrien like he was trying to solve a brain teaser. “If they don’t have souls _anywhere,_ how are they… alive?”

“Well, _generally_ speaking,” said Sabine, “the aos sídhe are animated solely by magic. They’re functionally immortal, as long as they work with the forces in question.”

“I’m immortal?” Adrien squeaked, alarmed. That seemed like something somebody should have told him. He should know that, right?

Sabine laughed, shaking her head. “No, most cait sídhthe are different. You’re essentially a human which can transform into a fairy cat, rather than a fairy with multiple forms.”

“So I… _sometimes_ have a soul?”

“It’s… difficult to articulate. It gets back into how the French look at souls,” sighed Sabine. “It’s not as if you have half a soul, because the magic compensates, but—you don’t have any hún souls.”

“Oh, jeez,” groaned Marinette, finally breaking away from her mother. She tugged a laughing Alya away, snuggling up to her instead, both of them leaned against the counter. “Here she goes.”

“You wouldn’t be so annoyed if you’d pay attention to your mother once in a while,” said Sabine, miming injury to her heart.

“If I listened to every lecture you gave about our heritage, my brain would have exploded by now,” said Marinette, sticking out her tongue for good measure.

“Your heritage?” Adrien asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, it’s a Chinese thing,” said Marinette, waving a vague hand. “Soul, uh—dualism?”

“That’s right!” Sabine beamed at her daughter. “Everyone—well, almost everyone—has a hún soul and a pò soul.”

“So like… what’s the difference?” asked Nino.

“Well… a hún soul is ethereal, while a pò soul is corporeal. Which is to say, when you die, a hún soul moves on, while a pò soul decays with the body.”

“So I like… just have one?” asked Adrien.

“Yes,” she affirmed, “a pò soul. It governs the seven apertures—like your eyes and ears—and it wants to return to the earth. It seeks to undermine your physical body so it can dwell again amongst the dark and damp.”

“You mean it’s trying to kill me so it can live underground? I already live underground!” said Adrien, paling.

Sabine laughed. “It’s only killing you in the sense that we’re all going to die _someday_ , Adrien. It’s a soul, but it’s a mortal one. Your magic compensates for the most part, though there are some things it can’t do on its own.”

“Like what? If we spritz him with holy water or something is he gonna catch fire?” asked Alya, grinning unabashedly at Adrien, who scowled as convincingly as he could through his suppressed smile.

“No,” said Sabine, amusement playing across her gentle face. “Mostly, it’s that magic cannot act as a part of the regenerative cycle necessary for a pò soul to grow and heal as it should. Functionally, that means that most cait sídhthe have a difficult time recovering from emotional disturbances, like grief, and of course the limited transformations—”

“The what?” Nino broke in, straightening abruptly on his stool. Adrien winced beside him. “Limited? How limited?”

Sabine blinked, looking between them, apparently confused. “They can only transform into cats nine times, but if they do it that ninth time, they won’t be able to change back.”

“Dude!” said Nino, looking at Adrien with dawning horror. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have made you—”

“It’s okay,” Adrien rushed to assure him, “I wouldn’t have—I wouldn’t transform unless it was important, and this was really important—”

“You could have been stuck forever like a goddamned—excuse me Madame C—like a gosh darned Animorph—”

“No, I—A what?”

“How many times, bro?”

“H-how many times… what?”

“How many times have you transformed?” asked Nino, his voice low, his face pained with guilt. Adrien hesitated to answer, looking away, his own guilt overwhelming him.

“…Eight,” he mumbled finally, fiddling with the bell around his neck. Nino groaned. “But it’s okay, Nino! I can—all I have to do is sign a contract, and then I can transform as much as I want!”

“…Really?”

“Yes!” said Adrien, nodding a little too emphatically. “It isn’t that big a deal, it’ll be okay. I promise, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think it was important—” Marinette cleared her throat to his side, “—or fun,” he admitted, smiling reassuringly.

“Okay…” said Nino, though he still looked incredibly guilty. Adrien’s heart clenched.

“Nino, it’s not your fault,” he persisted, crestfallen. “It’s mine. I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool,” Nino mumbled. “It’ll… it’ll be alright.”

“It sure will!” Alya broke in, clearly trying to break the tension. Her voice was loud, her smile was wide, and her arm was slung across Marinette’s shoulders like she was keeping Alya upright. The way she was leaning on her, she probably was. “All our boy needs to do is find someone to sign a contract with! I sure I wish I knew an eligible witch somewhere.” She sighed dramatically, slumping further against Marinette, who was now propping her up with both hands and unable to hide her blush.

“Alya!” she hissed.

“Why aren’t you two signed?” Adrien asked, looking between them. It’d certainly be a good match. Granted, a witch and a kitsune would have a very volatile brand of magic, which he couldn’t really see either of these two handling, but they got along very well.

“What, like to each other?” asked Alya. “My mom says I’m too young for contracts. She says maybe when I’m 50 and I can actually manage to hold a transformation more than a few hours.”

“She’s right, you know,” observed Sabine, smiling over the rim of a tea cup Adrien hadn’t noticed her fetch. More magic, he supposed. “A contract isn’t anything so transitive.”

“Madame Cheng,” said Alya, mock gasping and clutching at her heart. “Are you saying I have commitment issues?”

“I’m saying you’re distractible,” Sabine said fondly. “Would you like something to eat?”

Alya squinted at her suspiciously. “I see what you’re doing, Madame,” she muttered, “but I _would_ like something to eat.”

“So when Adrien signs a contract, he’ll like… grow a soul?” asked Nino, squinting as he tried to wrap his head around it. Sabine laughed, pulling a pot out of a cupboard beside the fridge and setting it on the stove. She pulled a wand from somewhere and, flicking it at the sink, directed a stream of water into the waiting pot.

“No,” she corrected gently. “A familiar contract is a sort of… joining of souls. So as long as he isn’t signing with another of the aos sídhe, it will be his pò soul and natural magic joining with the hún and pò soul of his partner. That’s why so many witches look at the aos sídhe for their familiars—it’s a lot of raw power, and it’s advantageous to both parties, because with access to a hún soul, the aos sídhe can self-regulate their natural rhythms.”

“Self-regulate?” Marinette broke in. Adrien blinked at her tone, looking over to where she and Alya were still tangled together against the sink. She looked pensive, frowning at him instead of her mother.

“Well, it can be learned of course, but young aos sídhe are especially prone to throwing fits, or losing control of their magic. They get caught in a feedback loop that manifests as… almost anxiety, really, and it can cause accidents here and there,” said Sabine.

“It happens a lot,” Adrien confessed, rubbing the back of his neck in a sheepish gesture. “Plagg says at the rate I wreck stuff, it’s no wonder black cats are supposed to be bad luck.”

“Yeah, but—what about yesterday?” Marinette protested, raising her eyebrows at him. He stared at her blankly, until she raised one hand and wiggled her fingers.

_Oh._ Yesterday.

“Yesterday?” asked Sabine, looking between them with evident amusement as she retrieved a package of meat from the fridge.

“He was freaking out, and I guess his magic was too, but then I touched him and it just—stopped.”

Sabine looked delighted. “Marinette! You helped him regulate!”

“Great,” said Marinette, her eyebrows pulling down into an exasperated scowl, “what does that _mean?”_

“It means my little baby is growing up,” cooed Sabine, swooping in and kissing a squawking Marinette on the cheek.

“ _Maman!”_

“Oh, fine, fine. It mostly means you have a better grasp of your gifts than I had realized. You were able to assess and understand his emotions so thoroughly that when you touched him, you adjusted your own feelings accordingly and balanced out his anxiety with your own calm.”

“There’s a hole in that theory,” drawled a familiar voice. Alya and Marinette jumped, looking wildly around, while Nino, in an attempt to spring to his feet, fell backwards off of his seat. Sabine turned her gaze upwards, while Adrien threw his head back and groaned.

Not again.

Plagg grinned down at him from atop the fridge, his long tail swishing back and forth across the photos and notes held to it with magnets.

“Plagg,” said Sabine, with a dip of her head and a wry smile.

“Sabine,” he purred in answer. “While that explains how she was able to calm the boy down, it would hardly explain how she was able to quiet his magic. She can’t feel it.”

“Oh,” said Sabine, blinking. “You’re right. It only covers emotional empathy, doesn’t it?”

“Tikki’s specialty,” said Plagg, rolling his eyes. “Impractical, if you ask me. It’s only good for telling when someone’s trying to trick you, and that’s a bit redundant under the circumstances, isn’t it?”

“Not everyone wears their displeasure so openly, Plagg,” she chided. “Marinette has found it very helpful—”

“But as helpful as luck?” Plagg broke in, lifting his chin. Adrien groaned. Here he went again. If he had a chance to ramble about his own specialty, he’d never shut up—

“Did you tell him about my luck?” Marinette asked, interrupting Plagg’s inevitable monologue. Adrien stared at her, surprised. She was staring at her mother, blinking rapidly. _Ah,_ he thought, his eyes drawn to the bright red ladybugs in her ears, _that’s right:_ She’s _lucky._

Wait.

If Marinette was lucky, and Plagg’s specialty was granting luck, and Plagg knew Marinette, then—

“No,” Plagg retorted, “I told _her_ about your luck. I’m the one who gave it to you.”

Nino had scarcely picked himself off the ground before Adrien crashed backwards off of his own stool, nearly taking out the werewolf on the way down.

“WHAT?” he shrieked, scrambling to his knees and gaping at Plagg from over the lip of the counter. His voice had shot up several octaves in shock, a high-pitched squeak that had him wincing from the auditory recoil.

“I have a life outside the sídhe, Adrien.”

“You gave Marinette a _boon?”_ he demanded, hauling himself up, his feet getting tangled in the fallen stool. He forced it with brute strength, a vertical pushup that managed to get him free of the wooden cage. “ _When?”_

“I second that question!” Marinette squeaked, looking quite as shocked as Adrien felt, standing pale and bewildered in the kitchen. Alya stood beside her with an ill-concealed grin, flashing laughing hazel eyes at a visibly confused Nino.

“Oh, a long time ago,” said Plagg, waving a vague paw. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“… Thanks,” said Marinette, somewhat begrudgingly.

“Yeah, um, _why?”_ Adrien spluttered, gesturing helplessly between them.

“As a reward, of course. Honestly kid, you never listen when I try to teach you about this stuff.”

“What did she do to earn the reward?” Adrien clarified through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” said Plagg. “It wasn’t her. It was Sabine.” He nodded at Marinette’s mother, where she stood stirring some kind of sauce into a pan with the meat. Adrien fought the urge to throw something at his guardian. If he had to ask one more specifically worded question to get a cryptic pseudo-answer, then—

“So… the empathy? And the lie-detecting?” asked Marinette.

“Those weren’t me,” Plagg said simply. He got to his feet, stretching leisurely before jumping to the floor, silent despite his weight.

“They’re boons too, dear,” Sabine put in, with a reassuring smile.

Marinette looked as if she didn’t know how to feel about this.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked after a moment. Adrien was distressed to see that she had officially crossed into ‘upset’.

Sabine softened. “It’s your power, Marinette. We never wanted you to doubt that. It’s no different than any other part of your magic. Before now it didn’t really matter—it’s just part of who you are.”

“It’s not like Stormy Weather,” said Adrien, making a face at the memory. “Boons aren’t supposed to be like that. That was… horrible, and wrong, and… awful. It’s like having someone else’s arm sewed onto your chest. A boon from Plagg is like being born with your mom’s hair. It’s just the way things are. It’s who _you_ are.”

“I don’t grant boons lightly,” Plagg put in, looking up at Marinette with his hypnotically green eyes. “It’s like looking at someone and knowing a piece of them is missing.” His gaze flickered to Adrien. The young cat sídhe smiled back at his senior, glad that he was being helpful for once.

“Okay,” said Marinette, in a small voice. It made Adrien’s heart hurt. He felt guilty, somehow, like he’d been the one to tell her. Well, Plagg was probably only here because of him anyway—in a way, it was his fault.

“So what were you saying about their magic, Plagg?” Sabine asked politely, drawing the eyes of the teens back to her. She was probably trying to give her daughter time to process; Adrien felt a surge of appreciation for her gentle tact. If only certain cats could take a page out of her book…

“Ah, right. Well, if she can’t even feel it, there’s no way she could have balanced it, even unconsciously. It’d be like painting a masterpiece in pitch darkness. Even with all the luck in the world, you’d still mess up here and there.”

“But if it wasn’t her empathy that corrected his magic, then what was it? As far as I know, she’s only had the three boons,” said Sabine.

“Uh, well… If we’re sticking with the cave analogy, then I guess magic is less like a painting and more like… music,” said Plagg. He looked up at Adrien, who had righted his stool and was settling himself down, a speculative frown beginning to form. “So Adrien’s ‘music’ was getting louder and louder and it might have burst a metaphorical wine glass, but Marinette intervened.”

“Intervened how?” Alya asked eagerly, clutching Marinette’s elbow. “Like harmonizing? Like their souls play complementary tunes and they’re destined to be together and—”

_“Alya!”_ Marinette hissed.

“No,” laughed Plagg. “No, it’s more likely that it was just… resonating.”

“Gǎnyìng!” said Sabine, tapping a spatula against the pan delightedly. “Really?”

“How is resonating different from harmonizing?” asked Nino. “I mean I know how it’s different in like, actual music, but uh, this analogy has me a bit lost.”

“Well, if you think of harmonizing like Alya was putting it, as two different tunes that come together to form a cohesive whole, it implies a conscious effort again. Like she felt his magic and set hers to the right frequency to balance it out. Resonance here would be… like her magic was reacting on its own, with no input from her,” said Plagg. “Mm, but… that’s not quite it. Sabine?”

“Well, gǎnyìng is the principle of simultaneous stimulus and response,” said Sabine, humming as she checked the pot beside her on the stove. “So things with an affinity for one another, at their core, will seek one another out. Water flows to what is wet, fire turns to what is dry. Clouds follow the dragon, wind follows the tiger. If you tune two zithers to the same scale, and pluck the note ‘do’ on one, ‘do’ will play on the other, because they’re alike. If you want to continue the analogy, it’s like their magic was already on the same frequency.”

“Frankly, I think it makes way more sense,” said Plagg, rounding the counter and pawing at Adrien’s pant leg to be picked up. Adrien obliged with a heavy sigh. “My luck might not be able to help you paint in the dark, but it could sure set you on a path to meet a like soul.”

“So they’re soulmates, yes or no?” asked Alya, making a chopping motion with her hands. Marinette immediately pounced, trying to lower them. “Give me the deets, Catdad.”

“No,” said Nino, “and I’m really sorry for using this as a reference point again, but it’s like they’re the same type in Pokémon, I think?” His voice rose uncertainly at the end, making it more of a question than an answer.

“Exactly,” said Plagg, giving him a pleased smile. “Except there’s like, a million different types, so it’s rarer to find someone of the same type. It’s not unique in the sense that it’s only _these two_ who could possibly be on this ‘frequency,’ but it is very rare. Luck certainly played its part.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Adrien began, looking down at Plagg, his heartbeat picking up, “ideal witch-familiar-combo?”

Plagg grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I'm being honest I had initially written the entire fight scene with the wrong layout of the courtyard. My brain autocompleted to a stand-up basketball hoop when they are in fact dangling, so some of the choreography there is uh, weird. My bad.
> 
> Now then. Piseóg. I'm very excited about this character but even more so about the name. Piseóg is the non-anglicized version of pishogue, which means (generally) superstition or (specifically) curse. Howeeeever, on the Aran islands (off the coast of County Clare (wink)) it's also a term for a kitten--pise (cat) + óg (small, young) which the disturbingly attentive among you may recognize from the term Tír na nÓg. 
> 
> HMMM. A kitten with a connection to butterflies and peacocks?? Mysterious dreams and paranoia re: blond cat sídhe??? What could it mean???? (Am I being too subtle? I feel like I'm being too subtle.)
> 
> Now. Plagg. "Phláig mac Irusan". Irusan being, of course, the mythical King of the Cats and, in this story, Plagg's father. Phláig is the lenited and genitive form of Plág, the Old Irish word for plague--I went with Old Irish because hell, Plagg's old. So literally it's Plague, son of Irusan. He (Plagg) has another name in this universe, but idk if I'll get around to mentioning it--maybe in Princess and the Peacock. 
> 
> Hilariously enough, Adrien's knee injury is based on one I myself sustained walking on flat, stable ground to the local thrift shop in search of Neopets toys. Unfortunately I didn't have access to magic so I had to go to the ER and get a tetanus shot.
> 
> Soul dualism is a tricky concept to integrate, but I think it sort f worked out? Hún souls and a pò souls are yang and yin respectively, and I thought it actually jived pretty well with my conception of Adrien's magic! Plus I think it's cute that he has a yin soul but no yang, I'm not gonna lie. This cat's soul is black as coal. OH and guess what?? Aside from there occasionally being three hún souls (i think for the three kinds of spirit), and seven pò souls (for the 7 apertures)--the "restorative" hún souls wear red and the "destructive" pò souls wear black. Like nothing you make up could ever be as cool or interesting as actual folk traditions, man. have i mentioned i love research
> 
> I'm sorry for referencing Animorphs. And Pokemon. Again.
> 
> Oh but hey kudos to me for correctly constructing the plural of cait sídhthe!! Fucking nailed it. Take that, archaic spelling--confirmed by my native speaking teacher. Also kudos to me for being so dedicated to accuracy that I actually fucking asked my teacher about the plural of cait sídhthe and just accepted that she's going to think I'm like, weird. You know, because it wasn't already extremely obvious.
> 
> I actually wasn't planning on going into Marinette's boons this early in the story?? I'm not really sure what happened there. Plagg just kind of does what he wants. The other two will be discussed eventually, along with the ones who granted them. She has a LOT to learn about her boons, and herself. I'll leave why she was granted the boons a surprise for now. Lord knows i need to maintain at least a thin veneer of no spoiler ;)
> 
> Gǎnyìng is... really, really difficult to explain. It is a LOT more complicated in application than in theory, and while I've explained the general principle as best I can, please god do not extrapolate anything from that except that they're not soulmates in a "one for one" sense, and that their metaphorical zithers are tuned the same way. I might love research but I'm also something of a dumbass & diligent note-taking can only carry you so far, you know?
> 
> Marinette's attitude towards her Chinese heritage is here a reflection of a teenage trend to reject their parents and any marginalized identity they may possess, and should in no way be interpreted as disparaging of actual Chinese culture, because quite honestly it's fucking rad and you should all get in on this research party bc I'm having the time of my life


	8. Pasta la Vista, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's an abundance of noodles & horseplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna front with you guys: I didn't realize I had enough for a new chapter until just now. yikes  
> also i did art & i thought it turned out nice but it only got like 15 notes who wants to [reblog it & validate me??](http://clarenecessities.tumblr.com/post/163646294369/wheezes-i-finished-it-i-figured-if-mama-agreste)
> 
> listen i will absolutely grovel for attention, i am not a proud creature

“Ideal might be pushing it,” said Plagg, yawning languorously in Adrien’s lap, “but you’d certainly have an easy time of it—magically speaking, anyway. I can’t speak as to how well your personalities would mesh; you may be a bit too foolhardy for our young witch, here.”

Adrien spluttered indignantly while Marinette gave a slightly hysterical giggle.

“I mean—we just met yesterday. That’s—you can’t just sign a contract on the second day you know somebody,” she protested, gesturing weakly at Adrien, who blinked as innocently as he could manage.

He’d always wanted to sign a contract. Ever since he could remember, ever since he had been aware of the concept, it had been some far-off dream. A connection to someone that couldn’t be broken.

He hadn’t ever met his parents, and true, he was more than happy with Plagg (provided Tikki stepped in occasionally to moderate disputes) (and their food supply) but he felt their absence in a way he couldn’t really express. It hung over him like unfinished business, like he was supposed to go out and do something about it, even when he knew there was nothing to be done.

His mother was dead. He’d accepted that a long time ago, and he knew it—he knew he’d never meet her, and he wasn’t even so sad about that as that she would never meet _him._ Adrien was nearly grown now, a teenager on the cusp of signing contracts and expanding his magic and finding out what he was supposed to _do—_ and his mother would never know. She wouldn’t get to see him laugh and smile and be happy, to go to school, to make friends. She’d never meet his partner, or if he ever got married, his spouse. She wouldn’t meet any children he might have.

He felt her absence as a low ache, only every once in a while, deep in his stomach and high in his throat. Sometimes he would dream of a woman with bells in her long blonde hair, who turned away when he called out and vanished into mist. Sometimes he wanted more than anything for her to turn around and see him, for all he had become.

And true, he knew comparatively little about his father—Plagg refused to speak of him, vanishing abruptly in a bushy-tailed snarl if Adrien pressed the subject, and Tikki would say only that they thought he was still alive, but a bad person. A very bad person.

So while he wanted to know, he also _didn’t_ want to know, and was more than happy to put off his unfinished business in the pursuit of something that could actually provide a modicum of happiness: Like a contract.

“Why not?” he asked Marinette, smiling his gentlest smile.

“Because it could go _terribly, terribly wrong!”_

“You can read my feelings, I can read your magic—heck, you can even tell when I’m lying! We would have figured out by now if we were evil, right?” he wheedled, trying to restrain himself from the instinct to beg. “I know it’s only been two days, and I’m not saying we have to sign now, or, or ever, really, I just—I just want you to consider it. A-and know that… that I respect your decision, whatever it is.”

Part of him wanted to try and talk her into it by emphasizing how happy it would make him, or how desperately he wanted a contract. A place where he and his wayward magic could be still and peaceful, could _belong._ Part of him wanted to seize on every minute of experience he’d gained in half-truths, living with the aos sídhe, and imply Marinette should be just as eager to work with him—but he couldn’t. Even if she wouldn’t have sensed it immediately, even if she had bought it hook line and sinker, he didn’t want to sign a contract like that. He didn’t want to manipulate or cajole her into something she didn’t want to be a part of.

As much as Marinette was the only witch he’d ever met with whom he could even envision signing a contract, as much as she was compassionate and inventive and inexplicably kind to him—as much as he desperately wanted to be her familiar—she was uncomfortable. While Adrien might not understand _why_ (her magic was a confused jumble) he could certainly respect her boundaries, and ease off some of the pressure he and others were applying.

That was what partners did, right? They kept each other safe, and comfortable, and he had been remiss in his (admittedly hypothetical) duties. As his guilt and chagrin melted into a fierce resolve to respect her wishes, no matter what, he looked back up at her, boldly meeting her eye.

She had a strange expression, still caught halfway in her flustered rebuttals, cheeks stained pink as the kitchen fixtures beside her. Her eyes had lost the gleam of panic and automatic denials, narrowed into a considering squint. Adrien swallowed and looked away, abruptly embarrassed. 

Shit. She had probably felt all of that. God damn it. He wasn’t used to this emotion-reading thing yet.

Huh. Maybe she had a point about the ‘only known each other for two days’ thing.

“Thanks,” she said eventually, but amusement colored her tone. He glanced up at her shyly, pleased to find she was grinning, relaxed and apparently mollified. Her magic had stopped roiling and faded into small, lapping waves.

“Lunch is ready!” announced Sabine, startling the teens out of the moment.

Adrien blushed, fingers going to the back of his neck as he chuckled awkwardly, faced with both Plagg and Nino shooting him smug grins. He could see Alya shaking Marinette by the elbow out of the corner of his eye, but chose to focus instead on Sabine, who looked too satisfied by the interaction and was handing him a stack of plates to pass along the counter.

She had made a simple pasta, chicken, vegetables—he could see broccoli lurking in the back of the pan and tried not to make a face. Plagg sat up a little straighter in his lap as Sabine served the food, meowing plaintively until Adrien rolled up a forkful of the thin noodles and scooped it into his mouth for him, grumbling under his breath. Damn cat.

“And there’s no onions, Nino,” said Sabine with a kind smile. Nino grinned at her, obviously relieved.

 “Thanks Mme. C,” he said as he scooped pasta directly into his mouth, forgoing the delicate fork twirling TIkki had insisted Adrien learn when she eventually taught him to use silverware.

“It tastes amazing Madame,” Alya assured, melting into her own dish with a grateful smile.

Adrien took an experimental bite while Plagg was chewing (an awkward affair without molars,) letting the flavors wash over him. Garlic, a rich cheese, basil—the meat was seasoned with a simple blend of spices that drew out the natural taste, reminding him almost paradoxically of a freshly killed mouse, hot and wild and liberating in its consumption. He blinked up at Sabine, who was watching his reaction with twinkling eyes and a faint smile.

“This is incredible,” he managed when he remembered to swallow, “Did you use magic on this or something?”

“Food is just another potion when you get down to it,” said Sabine, her smile widening as she watching Plagg chomp awkwardly with the side of his mouth. “Now, Plagg—what are you doing here?”

Plagg swallowed the last of his bite with an audible gulp. “I can’t just be visiting an old friend?”

“Twenty minutes after the children’s school was attacked? Somehow I doubt it.”

“Alright, fine, I heard about the attack. Forgive me for taking an interest in my investments,” said Plagg, turning his nose haughtily in the air.

“Your ‘investments,’ apparently did very well for themselves,” said Sabine, pride and disapproval warring in her tone. “They managed to stop the attack before word had even reached us here.”

“Well, it’s no surprise,” purred Plagg. “I’m a very good investor.”

“Are we included in that category, or is it just Lady Luck and Jiji Junior over here?” asked Alya.

“Who’s Jiji?” asked Adrien. “Are they a dashing young—”

“It’s a cartoon cat, dude,” Nino broke in with a sympathetic grimace.

“Oh.”

“My categories are for me to know and you to never find out,” said Plagg. “That’s why they’re called categories, and not foxegories.”

“Wow, rude?” said Alya, very obviously not offended in the least as she steepled a hand over her heart. “I just wanna be included, Catdad.”

“I would like to stress once again that Plagg is not my dad,” said Adrien, pouting.

“And he’s not your uncle or anything? Not a distant cousin?” asked Alya, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“Plagg was a close friend of his mother’s, dear,” said Sabine from behind her.

“How close?” asked Alya, turning her attention on Plagg. “Familiar close?”

“As if,” snorted Plagg.

“She had another familiar,” Adrien supplied, smiling down at his guardian. “I don’t know if he’s still around, though—I’ve sure never met him.”

“Honestly you lucked out there, kid,” said Plagg, “Every minute I spent with him was agony.”

“You say the same thing when you’re waiting for your dinner, Plagg.”

 “Well maybe if _some_ people would accept that cheese is a reasonable entrée, we wouldn’t have that problem!”

“You need vegetables to live!” growled Adrien, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork and jabbing it in a hissing Plagg’s face.

“I don’t need _shit_ to live, I’m immortal!” he yowled, struggling against Adrien’s grip on his torso. “I’m a god on Earth, you little—”

Sabine plucked the fork, broccoli and all, from Adrien’s grasp, and the two instantly fell silent, looking up at her.

“That,” she said primly, “will do. What’s the word on your side of things, Plagg?”

“As best we can tell, it was whoever killed Nooroo,” he answered, sullen. “They absorbed so much of his power that it’s tainted any identifiers. We can’t even tell if it’s one of the aos sídhe.”

“Was it a booned item, though?” asked Adrien.

“Sort of. It was… incomplete. I wouldn’t even call it an enchantment, it was like… everything they took from Nooroo, they put into that umbrella. It was practically its own entity, but its will was all ‘Piseóg’. Like it was a living thing with only one purpose.”

“It seemed like it was taking over Aurore,” Marinette said quietly. Adrien blinked. He hadn’t thought about Stormy Weather having… a person, under there.

“Less possession and more ‘influence,’ I’d think,” said Plagg, tilting his head to one side. “Nooroo was a member of the Fairy Court. There’s no way a mortal, even a magical one, could handle that proximity without being overwhelmed.”

“So how is Piseóg doing it?” asked Alya from Marinette’s side.

“Well, either they’re immortal themselves, or—and this is more likely based on what we saw today—they have some kind of vessel,” said Plagg.

“What makes you say that?” asked Adrien, looking down at him.

“Putting the magic into an item like that, rather than just trying to take control of the girl outright—this is somebody who knows what they’re dealing with, and they’re doing what they can to keep it at arm’s length.”

“So if they had possessed Aurore outright, then…?” asked Marinette.

“Then she’d be dead,” said Plagg, with a grim finality that unnerved Adrien. “She’s an elemental, right? She would have just… she would have been amplified into the biggest storm this world has ever seen—and then she would have petered out, and there would be nothing left.”

“Does that mean Piseóg like, doesn’t want to kill people?” asked Nino uncertainly. “I mean I know they like, attacked us, but—if they just wanted to annihilate as many people as possible, Mega-Storm sounds like a pretty good way to go.”

“It’s difficult to say, unfortunately,” said Plagg, frowning. “Things got sort of tangled up with what the girl wanted. It’s possible that Piseóg just isn’t used to wielding this kind of power, and things will be made clearer—but as it stands, we have no idea why they chose her. It might even be that she herself is Piseóg, and things just got away from her. It’s impossible to tell who was influencing whom.”

“A man dreamt he was a butterfly,” said Sabine, drawing everyone’s attention, “flying from flower to flower. It was rich and convincing, lifelike in the most intimate detail. When he woke, he could never again tell whether he was a man, or a butterfly having a dream.”

“Loving the ominous anecdotes, Mme. Cheng,” said Alya, shooting her a thumbs up, “can we get the cliff notes on the moral?”

“Nooroo’s power was fundamentally about change,” Sabine explained with a patient smile. “Emotion and transformation. Whether or not Piseóg has their own motive, I think it’s safe to say that the reason Aurore was selected was because of her emotional response.”

“What, so if we have feelings they’re gonna get us?” asked Nino, paling beside Adrien. Noodles slid off of his fork with a dull splat.

“Not necessarily,” said Sabine. “If we’re right and this is the same individual who killed Nooroo, then they don’t know what they’re doing yet. They were probably feeling the same emotions as Aurore and sympathized with her cause.”

“What was she feeling?” asked Adrien, looking to Marinette.

“Angry,” she said immediately. “Cheated and jealous, but mostly angry. She felt she deserved something that was given to someone else.”

“So you think that’s how Piseóg is feeling?” Plagg asked Sabine, locking eyes with her. The two regarded one another for a long moment, before finally Sabine nodded.

“I do. Why, I can only speculate,” she said. “Though I’m hoping we’ll learn more before there’s another incident.”

“Do you think they’ll attack the school again?” asked Nino.

“There’s no way of knowing,” said Plagg, looking up at him. “Although if they strike anywhere, the best place to be is probably in that school. Lots of magic users around… apparently some pretty good students.”

“School has been cancelled for the rest of the day while the teachers sort things out,” Sabine reported. “They sent a message. You’re all perfectly welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you Madame, but I need to get home,” said Alya with a wry smile. “My mother is going to skin me and wear me as a stole when she finds out what happened.”

“I’m good,” said Nino, his own smile a polite grimace. “I think my room got a little exploded, so I’m gonna let the teachers sort that one out before I head back.”

“Plagg?” asked Adrien, looking down at his guardian with wide, pleading eyes.

“We can stay,” said Plagg, “but you’d better keep the vegetables away from me, boy.”

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

“I don’t know about this,” said Adrien, frowning at Marinette and Nino as they fiddled with a piece of string.

“No dude, no, it’s fine, don’t even worry about it,” said Nino. He was kneeling next to the front door of Marinette’s apartment, holding one end of the string against the frame as Marinette held the other, casting some kind of enchantment on the string itself. From the feel of the magic, Adrien was pretty sure it was a stiffening charm—hence his anxiety.

“I mean, what if somebody gets hurt?” asked Adrien, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Adrien, please. We’re professionals,” said Nino, clasping his free hand to his heart.

“Professional… pranksters?”

“Professional Alya wranglers,” Marinette corrected, smiling broadly.

“Yeah, you know, weirdly, that doesn’t make me feel better,” said Adrien.

The trouble had begun about thirty seconds ago, when Alya went downstairs to greet her mother and had left her bag upstairs. Nino had immediately decided it was a golden opportunity, Marinette had agreed, and Adrien had never been so scared in his entire life.

“Okay,” said Marinette, dropping her end of the string to the ground. “We’re good.”

“Have you done this before?” Adrien asked hesitantly.

“Nah,” said Nino, getting to his feet with an exaggerated groan, “You think we could pull the same shenanigans twice with that girl?”

“She’d see it coming a mile away,” Marinette agreed, solemnly shaking her head.

“She’d make us trip our own trap. She’s done it before and she’ll do it again,” said Nino. “Why make it easier for her?”

“I don’t think I understand human friendship,” said Adrien.

“It’s terribly straightforward,” said Plagg from the kitchen, poking his head out from behind the refrigerator. “They just do what they want with no rules or mind games or _anything._ Terrifically boring stuff.”

“I mean there are _some_ rules,” Nino disagreed, “We’ve got like, a Bro Code.”

“But if you break it, do you lose like… an arm or your voice or something?” asked Adrien.

“All of your luck, perhaps?” added Plagg, grinning.

“Uh… no. I mean you might lose some friends,” said Nino, rubbing the back of his head. “If you had lent them like a movie or something you probably wouldn’t get that back. I guess yeah, generally, there aren’t any straight up curses involved in human friendship.”

“Oh, I disagree,” came Alya’s voice from the stairwell. “Only _true_ friendship has curses. You have to get through it together.”

“Maybe the real curse was the friendships we made along the way,” said Marinette, grinning as she leaned around the door frame to see her better.

Alya slowed suspiciously as she reached the landing, eyes narrowing as she looked at Marinette. “Why do you have your guilty face on?”

“She feels bad for trash talking friendship,” Nino supplied innocently.

“Uh huh,” she said dubiously. “And the string on the ground?”

“ _Heck,_ ” said Nino, with such force that he might as well have just sworn.

Marinette sighed, waving her wand to disenchant the string, stepping over the threshold and wrapping her arms around Alya. “Alright, fine,” she said dramatically, “You win this round, Césaire. We’ll get you next time.”

Alya wrapped her arms around Marinette in turn, snorting good-naturedly, “You’ll have to do way better than an extremely visible tripwire.”

“It was Nino’s idea,” said Marinette, pulling away to make a face at her.

“Hey I know it was a longshot, but like, imagine if it had _worked!”_ said Nino, scooping the string off the ground and stuffing it into his pocket. “She woulda never lived it down!”

“And you’re not like, mad about this?” Adrien asked Alya, a little nervously.

“What, that they’re trying to catch up to the number one prankmaster? Hardly. I’m only disappointed their efforts were so… remedial,” said Alya, removing one arm from Marinette’s waist to put a triumphant fist against her own hip.

“Things are really different out here,” Adrien murmured, half to himself, half to Plagg.

“Oh, can you even imagine if someone tried that in a sídhe?” his guardian asked with a snort remarkably similar to Alya’s, “The charm would be absorbed in about a second. Even if it managed to trip somebody you’d more likely end up with blighted crops.”

“Jeez,” said Marinette, frowning a little, “that sounds kind of rough. I thought the sídhe were all about having fun and living free.”

“Oh, we are,” said Adrien sincerely, “It’s just that most of the aos sídhe take themselves way too seriously, and also that blighting crops is super fun.”

“Well it _is_ ,” said Plagg. “Haven’t you ever just like, smashed something? Started a fire? Popped a balloon? It’s a real rush. I’d do it all the time if people weren’t going to die or whatever.”

“Aaaand on that note, I’m out,” said Alya, rolling her eyes. Marinette passed her her bag with a rueful smile that the kitsune returned in equal measure, ruffling her bangs affectionately. “You keep the boys in line another day, huh? I’ll text you later.”

“You’d better,” said Marinette, in the warmest threat Adrien had ever heard.

“Later, nerds,” said Alya, giving a two-fingered salute to the room. “Oh, Mari, your parents said they’re gonna be downstairs for a while. I guess they’re reopening the potion bit for a few more hours, since things have calmed down. Your mother says, and I quote, ‘tell Marinette that she’s in charge and under no circumstances should anyone follow Plagg’s advice.’”

Plagg yowled in protest as Alya left. “I give _great_ advice!”

“You give terrible advice and you know it,” said Adrien sourly. “Do you remember what you said to me before class yesterday?”

“Yeah, your first day of school _ever,_ which I very helpfully took you to and arranged in the first place?” muttered Plagg.

“Yes, that one. What did you say?”

“I told you to go in and fight the biggest kid in the room, so everybody would know not to mess with you.”

Marinette and Nino groaned in tandem.

“What?” demanded Plagg, “That’s how you establish dominance!”

“If I were going to cat school, which is for cats,” said Adrien. “This happens to be a little more multicultural than you’re used to, Plagg.”

“Excuse you, I’m very cultured! I’ve been serving in the Fairy Court for almost—”

“No, like, a more multicultural _school,_ Plagg,” said Adrien, rolling his eyes.

“What’s the difference?”

“Well,” said Marinette, “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t most members of the court like, seasoned representatives of their various groups?”

“Mostly,” Plagg allowed, his flattened ears swiveling forward in interest. “Sometimes you get lone wolves such as myself, who just happen to be especially powerful and awe-inspiring.”

“But everyone involved is lobbying for a voice in the court,” she pointed out. “Kids go to school to like, learn.”

“Oh,” said Plagg, blinking. “Oh. I hadn’t actually thought of it like that.”

“You hadn’t thought of school as being for learning?” asked Adrien.

“Well excuse me for being used to refinement and political intrigue—”

“In what universe does ‘fight the biggest dude in the room’ equal refinement?” Nino asked, laughing incredulously.

“In the aos sídhe world,” said Plagg, turning his nose up primly.

“He’s actually right about that one,” Adrien admitted. “For example, if somebody walked in right now and put Plagg in a headlock, I’d pretty much have to respect them. It’s in like, my genes.”

“I mean I’d respect anyone who’d be willing to put a cat in a headlock,” said Marinette. “That many claws, that close to your face? Talk about guts.”

“Well let’s clarify, the toughest dude or the _biggest_ dude? Like I’m definitely bigger than you guys, even if I couldn’t beat Catdad in a fight,” said Nino.

“Not you too,” groaned Adrien.

“Look, it’s adorable, I’m not gonna miss out on that. But yeah like, it would be significantly less impressive if somebody just came barreling in here and put _me_ in a headlock, you know?”

“I suppose strongest then,” said Plagg, tilting his head to one side as he considered.

“Good, ‘cause like, biggest is def-o Ivan, but I don’t know if Adrien could take him,” said Nino, grinning at Adrien’s affronted gasp.

“He’s a giant rock monster Adrien, what did you expect,” Marinette laughed.

“Um, a little _faith?”_

“Dude I’ve known you exactly a day and I am one hundred percent certain Ivan would kick your ass. This isn’t even about faith, it’s about keeping you from getting squashed like a bug.”

“Well, who’s the strongest, then?” grumbled Adrien, unable to deny it. He was smiling in spite of himself, surprised at how much he was enjoying the gentle ribbing. He’d never been very good at taking things personally (though he could hold a mean grudge when pressed) so it was almost… refreshing, to be in an environment where he could relax a little, and know that teasing was just teasing.

“Out of the class?” asked Nino, frowning. “Hm… I guess it depends. In straight combat, probably Ivan—but as we saw today, our Marinette’s got a great head for strategy.”

“I’d say you could give Ivan a run for his money, Nino,” Marinette pointed out, smiling wryly. “You’re stronger than you realize, and your agility blows his out of the water.”

“Ha!” said Nino, grinning over at her, “Nino used Agility. It’s super effective!”

Adrien blinked.

Marinette, apparently picking up on his confusion, smiled over at him. “Oh, it’s from this game called Pokémon. I think Nino mentioned it earlier?”

“Yeah!” said Adrien, brightening, “Yeah, he actually showed me a couple episodes last night! It’s a game?”

“You bet your sweet cat ass it is,” said Nino. “Marinette, grab us some consoles. Things are about to get wild.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sabine's butterfly metaphor is of course based in the Zhuangzi's "Butterfly Dream" segment, here rendered far less eloquently because I am maybe 2% as well-spoken as Zhuang Zhou and also still can't speak Chinese ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	9. Creation and Recreation

Nino and Marinette’s footsteps were thunderous on the stairs up to her room, while Adrien and Plagg, following behind, were almost silent. They were perhaps twice as eager to show the cait sídhthe the games as the cait sídhthe were to be shown, giggling and shoving at one another as they clambered through a trap door in the ceiling. Adrien could feel their magic sizzling and bubbling (respectively) even from about nine stairs behind them, and found both this and their laughter catching. He grinned broadly as he scooped Plagg up into his arms and shouldered his way into Marinette’s room.

Somehow, it was even pinker than her kitchen.

While Adrien’s room was a sort of organized chaos, little troves of treasures stashed away amongst stacks of knick-knacks, Marinette’s was… a mess. There were clothes everywhere, clean, dirty, some half-assembled, some draped over mannequins that turned their heads to reveal they had googly eyes plastered on, with silly expressions doodled clumsily in marker. They had little jingle bell cuffs around the limbs unobstructed by projects.

“They were a little creepy before,” Marinette admitted, noticing him staring. “I enchanted them to move but I didn’t really think it through, and uh, I may have woken my parents up a few too many times—”

“She forgot they were alive and scared the shit out of herself,” Nino explained flatly. “The bells were Alya’s idea because, and I quote, ‘sleepovers are for watching horror movies, not living them.’”

The mannequins weren’t the only unusually animated items in Marinette’s room—everywhere he looked, Adrien found hidden delights. Stuffed animals peeked their heads around furniture to stare at him, books fluttered around a giggling Marinette as if they were a flock of birds, the pillows on a chaise lounge shoved heaps of laundry off its seat in a way that seemed almost embarrassed. Drawings on the wall bounced and waved and grinned back at him, some twirling to show off their outfits. A sour-looking dragon figurine puffed out a gust of real smoke and turned haughtily away. Plagg wriggled out of his arms to chase after a balled-up sock that rolled past like a tumbleweed.

It wasn’t magic in the same way that Adrien’s room was; in the sídhe, magic was everywhere, equally distributed between every painting, every desk, every mote of dust. Here, it flared and sparkled and danced, flashing like gems in the light, or a sunburst off a river.

It was the difference between living in a rainbow and going to a rave.

 “I, um…” he began awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot and folding his hands carefully behind his back. His eyes were glued to the floor.

“What’s up dude?” Nino asked immediately, frowning. “You okay? We don’t have to play if you don’t want to.”

“I _do_ want to,” Adrien insisted, glancing up and then back down, rubbing his toe against the floorboards a little sheepishly, “It’s just, um…”

“He’s gonna blow something up,” said Plagg, leaping onto Marinette’s desk chair and clutching at the back as it span in response. He sounded like he was confiding in a teacher that a fellow student was up to no good, smug as anything as he tattled before Adrien could confess. Adrien shot him a sour glare, carefully keeping his eyes away from Marinette’s computer.

Nino and Marinette turned to him in evident surprise, waiting for his defense. He winced.

“He’s, uh… well, he’s not wrong,” he sighed finally, looking back at the floor.

“Oh,” said Nino, with dawning comprehension, “oh, ‘cause of like, your magic? Are electronics like, extra sensitive?”

“Just extra fragile,” said Adrien, a little miserably. “I think I’m, um, a little overexcited.”

Marinette gave a considering hum; he didn’t need to look up to know she was checking his mood. “You are kind of keyed up,” she admitted after a moment. “Maybe if I…?”

Adrien looked up hopefully, but his eyes caught on Plagg. The older cat sídhe was looking… neutral. The absence of a disapproving scowl somehow cowed him more than a withering frown ever could.

“No,” he said finally, shoulders sagging, “No, Plagg’s right. I’ve gotta learn to control it on my own, or I’ll be a disaster forever.”

“You’ll be a disaster no matter what,” said Plagg, grinning, “it’s the rest of the world I’m worried about.”

“My magic isn’t going to destroy the world, Plagg!”

“Just modern human society?” Nino supplied helpfully, smothering a grin of his own.

“It could be worse,” mumbled Adrien.

“Easy for you to say,” said Marinette, laughing. “When’s the last time you spent time in human society?”

“When’s the last time _you_ did?” Nino challenged.

“Well, okay, to be fair—”

“Ah-ah,” Nino interrupted. “Exclusively human, dude. Because I seem to recall a certain someone asking why dogs had to wear leashes—”

“It doesn’t make _sense,_ Nino,” she huffed, waving her arms animatedly in the air. “How hard is it to ask a dog not to run off? People train them to sit all the time!”

“Is that a thing here?” Adrien asked, surprised. “I’ve seen a dog on a leash like, twice in my life.”

“Yeah, uh, welcome to modern society, you big weirdos,” said Nino, rolling his eyes affectionately. “Adrien grew up in a literal hole, Marinette. What’s your excuse?”

“That it’s a bad rule and also shut up!”

“Aren’t _you_ human?” asked Adrien, tilting his head to one side. Her father had smelled very strongly of bear, and mentioned transformations, but he might just specialize in transmutation.

“I mean, mostly,” said Marinette, shrugging idly. “Papa is like, a bear thing. I should probably know what kind of bear thing, but he doesn’t really talk about it much.”

“Oh, there’s no official name for the bears,” said Plagg from her chair, still spinning in a lazy circle. He broke into a wide, self-satisfied grin. “One of those bad luck words.”

“What is? ‘Bear’?” asked Nino, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep. Or it used to be, anyway. It’s gotten pretty diluted over time, and I guess it was mostly the Finnish, but their court is based in one of those Nordic things, so—”

“The bears have their own court?” Marinette interrupted, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah, all the different groups do,” said Adrien. “Some of ‘em are set up differently, like there’s no King of the Foxes or anything on account of foxes hate rules, or like there’s a million Queens of the Bees, but for the most part everybody’s got their own little system or systems, and then from those courts you get delegates or ambassadors, or uh… something…”

Plagg sighed heavily and sat back on his haunches, taking over for his charge. “It’s common practice among the aos sídhe to foster surplus heirs with the other races, to encourage better relations between them. It’s sort of like that school of yours, but kept between fairies.”

“Does that mean Marinette’s dad is a fairy too, or like… nah?” asked Nino.

“Nah,” said Plagg, “We’re just allied with the bears. There are bear sídhe out there, but Tom and his ilk aren’t related to ‘em. We still loan out our children to them as a symbol of the peace between us, though. The biggest difference is that their transformations are physical instead of magical, and they were once ordinary humans. Or ordinary bears, depending on how you look at it.”

“Does… was somebody changed into a bear, or was a bear changed into a somebody?” asked Marinette, hesitating.

“Both,” said Plagg. “I believe the bears changing into humans came first, but I could be wrong about that. It was in a different part of your world than I usually frequent.”

“They weren’t just like… bears, though, right?” asked Nino. “Like they were magic or something?”

“Oh, well, of course,” said Plagg, rolling his eyes. “This was in the days before the magical systems separated themselves from this plane. There was magic in everything, back then. I suppose there still is—but only if you know where to look.”

“How did the bears earn transformations?” Adrien asked, leaning forward. He hadn’t met any bears that weren’t part of the aos sídhe, so he’d never heard the story. “Did… did they steal souls? Like a cat sídhe trying to get more transformations?”

“No,” said Plagg, frowning as he tried to remember. “No, I seem to recall it being granted as a sort of boon for something. You should ask Wayzz about it, I think his father was there. Ah, but there were several incidences of bears earning it independently, and by that time humans had begun to wield their own magic.”

“Did we not always?” Marinette asked, leaning forward in interest. She had settled down onto her floor in front of Plagg, sitting cross-legged and staring up in wonder, like a child during story time.

“Oh, no,” said Plagg, grinning. “You remember what your mother was saying earlier about souls?”

“Yes…?”

“That’s why humans can’t produce magic the way we can,” said Plagg. Delicately, he lifted a paw in the air, and it began to glow a sharp, bright green, the same shade as his eyes. Adrien sucked in a surprised breath; he almost never got to see Plagg use his magic. The old cat was notoriously lazy.

“I’ve seen humans do that,” Nino disagreed, sitting heavily on the floor beside Marinette. He folded his knees up against his chest, leaning forward. “You mean like not using wands or herbs or anything, right? Like, producing magic instead of channeling it?”

“That I do,” said Plagg, eyes glinting. “Whatever human you’ve seen pull that off has a contract with a magic-producing familiar, practically guaranteed. In the old days, before contracts became a wide-spread thing, there were other methods—but none have really survived to the present era.”

“Other methods?” asked Marinette.

“Like soul-splitting,” said Adrien, wincing.

“What, like a fucking horcrux?” asked Nino, jerking his head away from his knees.

“A wha—”

“No,” Plagg interrupted, “not like a horcrux. Splitting your soul doesn’t give you bonus lives, it just chops your soul up like a log and tosses half on the fire.”

“Wh… what’s the fire in this analogy?” asked Nino.

“Magic.”

“I don’t think I’m down for those parameters,” said Nino, swallowing.

“Well, you produce your own magic anyway,” Adrien hurried to reassure him. “I can feel it! It’s uh… zippy.”

“Wait, so Marinette like, doesn’t have magic, but I do?” asked Nino. “I thought she could do spells and stuff _because_ she had magic, and I’m just like, you know, a wolfboy.”

“No, she does,” said Plagg. “When the planes began to come apart, some humans developed the ability to… stockpile, I guess, the magic left behind. She doesn’t produce it, but she collects it.”

“Like… uh… like if you light a stick off an already-burning fire?” asked Nino, squinting.

“I don’t think the fire metaphor really works here,” said Marinette, grinning at him. “Collecting fire isn’t exactly sustainable. I think they’re saying it’s like... if magic were currency, you’ve got a minimum wage job, they’re old money, and I keep a sharp eye out for loose change.”

“If there were a whole lot more loose change around, exactly,” said Plagg, nodding.

Adrien blinked. Approval? From Plagg? He was starting to feel almost… jealous about how much Plagg seemed to like Marinette. Which was ridiculous, he tried to reason, he should be glad his guardian approved of his prospective partner—and he himself liked Marinette a great deal already. He was just a _little_ jealous. He just wanted that validation.

He was allowed to be selfish sometimes! He just wanted Plagg to be proud of him. And, well, for Marinette to listen to _him_ so attentively. _Aw, man,_ he thought to himself, trying to stifle a groan. _I’m a jerk._ Here he had promised himself a scant hour before he’d lay off pestering her and he was already antsy again. It would be so much easier if she couldn’t feel his—

Adrien froze.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit, she could feel his feelings. What did she think of the sulking and pouting? He chanced a glance at her out the corner of his eye, but she was politely avoiding looking at him.

He tried desperately to tamp down the embarrassment and chagrin that washed through him. He didn’t need to be bothering her with this stuff! He wasn’t going to pester her, the least he could do was stop feeling such annoying feelings—

“Adrien,” said Marinette, interrupting Nino’s convoluted line of questioning about whether this meant he could like, get a paycheck for being a werewolf, “you don’t have to do that. It’s okay to feel stuff.”

“But—”

“No, really,” she insisted, frowning a little in concern. “I sense everybody’s feelings all the time, some people aren’t even aware of it. You don’t have to apologize for having emotions, or try to not have them at all.”

“I just… I don’t want to bother you,” he mumbled, awkwardly scrubbing at the back of his neck. He sat heavily on her chaise lounge, leaning forward onto his knees a bit, staring hard at the floor.

“It’s no bother,” she assured him, and even in his peripheral vision her smile was blinding. He looked up at her, hesitating to relax on what seemed to him a considerate thing to do.

“I mean, you can sense people’s magic, right?” asked Marinette. “It’s like that. It can get overwhelming in crowds and such, but that doesn’t mean that you should smother yourself to accommodate me, even then. It’s not something you should be embarrassed about; feelings are important. They’re part of who we are.”

“Well,” said Plagg, “most of us.” 

“So we can’t play video games until Adrien gets his act together, and/or signs a contract,” said Nino, frowning thoughtfully. “What do you guys wanna do instead? What do sídhes do for fun?”

“Uh,” said Adrien, grimacing.

“Jinx people,” Plagg answered promptly, with a self-satisfied smile stretching so wide his whiskers lifted. Nino’s eyes narrowed.

“Or bless them!” Adrien added hastily. “It’s not all bad luck!”

“No kidding,” Marinette laughed, gesturing at herself. “Is that it, though? I didn’t think the sídhe interacted with our world all that often.”

“He’s got deer spying on us,” said Nino, pointing at Plagg like a child tattling on its friend. “They go back to his place and tell him all our secrets.”

“Not _all_ of them. Just the good ones.”

“What Plagg is _trying_ to say,” Adrien cut in, glaring ferociously at him, “is that we generally entertain ourselves with magic.”

“Is there like… do you have magic video games?” asked Nino. “Like you had magic lights and magic doors and everything, do you have like… I dunno, virtual reality or something? Or like a rock that plays .mp3 files?”

“Uh, well, mostly it’s—”

“Oh my _god_ do you have magic guns??”

“What.”

“Like a—like a laser cannon but it’s blasting you with magic!” said Nino. He mimed holding a moderately sized blaster to his shoulder, squinting one eye. “Pew! Pew pew!”

“I feel like I’m missing some cultural context here, but my gut instinct is no,” said Adrien, grinning at him. “Is this from a human Star War? Is it this light ‘saber’?”

Nino dropped the imaginary gun to point at him, as accusingly as he had pointed at Plagg. “Oh, nice try, man, but you know it’s Star Wars. You can’t put this one past ol’ Nino.”

“Ah, but does he know it’s ‘lightsaber’?” asked Marinette, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

“That’s what I said!” he protested innocently, grin widening. “Light saber!”

“He did this with ‘sleepover’ too,” muttered Nino, with an affected scowl. “Was that a goof? Were you goofing with me before?”

“I don’t know about these sleep overs, but I can guarantee you he knows it’s lightsaber,” said Plagg. “We broke into a nerd’s house once and watched all of them.”

“ _All_ of them?” Nino repeated dubiously. “Even the Christmas special?”

“ _Especially_ the Christmas special.”

“We’ve seen the ones that haven’t come out yet, too,” Adrien put in smugly. Take that, linear time.

“Aw what!” Nino yelped. “No spoilers!”

“Oh, so you don’t want to know that Luke is actually—”

“I’ll kill you,” said Nino, pretending to hoist his imaginary gun back up. “I’ll do it, man.”

“Mercy,” Adrien pleaded, a bubbling laugh ruining his affectation. He mimed a swoon, tossing the back of his hand against his forehead—and hadn’t he learned that from Nino? His smile was so wide he was worried his face might split in half. Only two days and he was already a _master_ of human mannerisms.

“No murdering in my room,” said Marinette, putting a hand where she imagined the barrel would be. Nino lowered his own hands obligingly, though he still pretended to menace Adrien with a scowl. She turned to the sídhthe. “How is it that you entertain yourselves with magic?”

“In much the way you appear to,” said Plagg, with an approving nod to her various creations. “Enchantments and things—plenty of contests to see who’s better at what. There’s nothing quite so gratifying as destroying your friends in competition.”

“Not even destroying your enemies in competition?” asked Adrien.

Plagg didn’t answer, but his eyes gleamed when he smiled at him.

“We could have a contest, I guess,” said Marinette, humming to herself as she looked around. “Although I don’t know what there is that hasn’t already been enchanted, aside from the electronics…”

“How about your sketchbook?” Nino suggested, pointing at few loose sheets of paper on her desk. “We could have an airplane-building contest.”

“I can’t build a whole—”

“A paper airplane, Adrien.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” said Nino, rubbing his chin. “You two build your planes without touching them, and then we’ll race ‘em and see which flies better.”

“You’re not gonna build one?” asked Marinette, raising an eyebrow as she reached across Plagg to flick the paper towards herself.

“Oh, I am,” said Nino, grinning, “but I get to use my hands, on account of I’m only making minimum wolf-wage, magically speaking.”

“Are we allowed to—”

“Ah-ah!” Plagg interrupted, jumping abruptly into Adrien’s lap to silence him. “What have I taught you?”

Adrien sighed heavily. “Permission is for dogs.”

“That’s right.”

“Should I be offended, or does he mean real dogs?” asked Nino, sliding a sheet closer to Adrien. Adrien shifted Plagg off his lap, scooping him up and dumping him on the chaise beside him, while he slid to the floor.

“You’re not a dog,” he said, rolling his eyes, “you’re a wolf. Sometimes. Uh.”

“I get it, I get it,” said Nino, waving him off with a laugh. He pulled his own sheet closer to him, lining it up carefully with the wooden floor. “There is a weredog at school though, right Marinette?”

Marinette looked up from where she was frowning intensely at her sheet of paper, wand laying across her lap as she plotted her course of action. “Hm? Oh, well he’s not a weredog so much as… I don’t know, he can turn into a dog sometimes or something.” She scowled to herself. “You know, they really ought to do some kind of gen ed for all the species, I don’t think I know half of—hey!”

Adrien looked up innocently from his paper. “What?”

“He said no hands and you know it!”

“Maybe so,” said Adrien, lifting his chin to curb his smile, “but he didn’t say no feet.” He flexed his bare toes menacingly in her direction.

“He didn’t say no paws either,” said Plagg dryly from beside him. “Though I suppose if we’ve learned anything from your little adventure today, it’s that you don’t know when to ask for my help.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it,” said Adrien, straightening his crease with a gentle blur of magic, the same shade of green as his eyes. Across from him, Marinette had begun working, maneuvering each corner of the paper with a flick of her wand. Nino was ignoring all of them, tongue peeking out from behind his teeth as he focused on keeping his lines straight.

“Okay,” said Plagg, after a full minute had passed. “I’m bored. Time’s up.”

“Wait wait wait I’m almoooost—done!” said Nino, lifting his plane with a flourish.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, feet lined up behind a tape measurer which had helpfully inched its way into a starting line, rather like a caterpillar.

“Ready,” drawled Plagg, “aaaaaand… go!”

Adrien gritted his teeth, leaning his whole weight into the throw.

It flew like an arrow, beautiful, straight and true, before nosediving sharply and plunging into the floor so sharply it bent its nose.

“Noooo,” said Adrien, falling dramatically to his knees behind the starting line and reaching out a trembling hand as though to cradle his broken creation.

“Okay, okay, so the cat can’t fly,” said Nino, rolling his shoulders. “It’s wolf time.”

“Nino, wolves can’t fly either,” said Marinette, laughing as she laid a consoling hand on Adrien’s shoulder.

“Uh, excuse me, haven’t you ever seen Balto 3: Wings of Change?” asked Nino, winding up as if pitching a baseball, and letting it fly.

His plane made it a good distance, floating much more gently than Adrien’s had. It landed almost touching the far wall, perfectly parallel to the floorboards. Nino bowed as dramatically as Adrien had crumpled. “How’s that for wolves don’t fly?” he asked, smirking up at Marinette.

“Hm,” she said simply, a mischievous grin blooming to life as she tossed her plane.

It was too soft, Adrien thought privately; she had scarcely moved her wrist, let alone her elbow—it would never beat Nino’s.

His eyes widened as, instead of nosediving like his, or drifting down like Nino’s, Marinette’s plane began to rise.

“Wh—hey!” Nino exclaimed, pointing as the plane looped around his grounded attempt and sailed leisurely back to Marinette’s waiting hand. She laughed, a triumphant, exhilarated laugh that had Adrien laughing along before he knew it.

Her laugh, apparently, was as infectious as the rest of her, and he relished in it as Nino shouted through his own stifled chortling, and Marinette did a ridiculous victory lap around her room.

“That was clearly cheating!” said Nino when he had at last smothered his giggles.

“You said only magic, no hands,” Marinette sang. “You never said no enchanting.”

“Quite a pair you two make,” said Nino, looking between Marinette and Adrien, who had slid from his knees to his stomach to reach his plane, and was now curled around it like a cat with a mouse. “Rematch! No enchantments and no feet!”

“As thrilled as I would be to defend my title,” said Marinette, smirking, “someone’s coming upstairs.”

Adrien blinked, rolling into a sitting position, reaching out with his magic just as the there was a rap at the trapdoor.

“Come in!” called Marinette, and a familiar face emerged with a sheepish smile.

“Hello,” said Mlle. Bustier, wincing in apology. “I’m so sorry you children had to go through that. We’ll be talking about it more tomorrow, but for this evening I think everyone’s had… enough. I’ve come to fetch Nino.”

“Oh,” said Nino, grabbing his headphones off the floor. “Did you guys get the school fixed up?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, sighing. “The damage was mostly to the classrooms facing the courtyard, so your room was largely unaffected, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know. The window was broken, but it was an easy fix.”

“Cool, alright,” said Nino, bobbing his head in a strange, jerky nod, like it wasn’t cool _or_ alright. Adrien frowned, leaning into Nino’s magic a little, but could only tell that it was agitated—which could mean practically anything. He exchanged a worried glance with Marinette.

“Are you ready to come home or would you like to stay a little longer?” Mlle. Bustier asked politely.

“I’ll go back, I guess,” said Nino, shrugging as he gathered the rest of his things, including his paper airplane. “I’m pretty worn out from last night still, even without all this stuff. Baba needs a nap, y’know?”

“Yeah,” said Marinette, and though he thought Nino was telling the truth, Adrien was sure she was as suspicious as he was about what he _hadn’t_ said.

“I’ll see you tomorrow though, right man?” he asked before he could stop himself, getting to his feet.

“Of course,” said Nino, smiling back with such sincerity that Adrien almost melted at the relief of tension. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t because he’d messed something up again. Probably Nino just didn’t know how to leave either, or… something. He clasped hands with Adrien in a friendly, jostling sort of way, clapping him on the back, and shot Marinette some finger guns as he descended the staircase to a chorus of farewells.

Adrien scarcely waited for the front door to close before turning to Marinette in a whirl. “Was he okay?” he asked immediately.

“Kind of,” said Marinette, but she didn’t sound worried. She just sounded… sad. “I think… Nino doesn’t really like living at the school. I think he gets lonely.”

“Oh,” said Adrien, gaze shifting to the floor. Lonely.

He could understand lonely.

“Yeah,” said Marinette, doubtlessly reading his own sadness, “we offered to let him stay here, but he didn’t want to be a bother. You may have noticed, he can be a little… he feels guilty about stuff a lot.”

“Yeah,” Adrien agreed quietly. He looked to Plagg, who was quiet for once, watching the two of them while his tail swung in slow, lazy arcs behind him.

“We should get going too,” he said after a few moments, “Tikki was fit to be tied when she heard, and I know she wants to see you.”

“Oh jeez,” groaned Adrien. “You could have said something! She’s gonna flip out!”

“Who’s Tikki?”

“Queen of the aos sídhe,” said Adrien, “sort-of raised me, worries excessively about my safety, is going to absolutely _skin_ Plagg when we get home for not telling her I was okay!”

“Oh, she knew you were okay!” said Plagg, rolling his eyes as he stood with a lazy stretch. “Give her some credit, kid, she’s not queen for nothing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Adrien, hastily snatching his things off the floor. “Um. Sorry to run out like this Marinette, but thank you for having us over. I’m also sorry about Plagg. Just like, in general.”

“Any time,” she said graciously, smiling at him and passing a purring Plagg into his waiting hands. “I’d say you’ll have to have us over sometime, but I really don’t want your house to kill me.”

“Me either,” said Adrien, with a sincere shudder at the thought. “Um, and thank your parents for us, please, tell them it’s a royal emergency, they’ll understand—and thank you for the food! And the… um…” Was it weird to thank people for being friends with you? Adrien wasn’t sure.

Marinette’s smile widened, so it seemed she’d gotten the message all the same. “You’re welcome,” she said, and Plagg’s eyes flashed green, and the world dissolved into home around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have... NO IDEA... how much ancient people loved bears 
> 
> this chapter ended up being sort of... a break? not for me (god, not for me) but for the kids. i figure for all my pleas to "let my children rest" the least i could do is give them an evening to decompress after the shit i put them through. 
> 
> ... and what i'm going to do to them tomorrow.


	10. Day :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow less than a month for a chapter? who am i

The morning of Adrien’s third day of school began much like his first, with him rushing around in a panic as Tikki tried to soothe him while Plagg leisurely enjoyed breakfast. The biggest difference was Tikki occasionally adding to his panic, fretting about the previous days’ events and speculating that perhaps they should withdraw him from school after all, what with all the terrible and as yet unexplained events.

He could only bear so much of her fussing on top of his own anxieties—about the attack, the murder, signing a contract, and all this teenage friendship business—and left as soon as he had scarfed down the oatmeal she’d made for him. He kissed her on the cheek, checked his bag to make sure he had everything, shot Plagg a rude gesture, and vanished abruptly in a wave of green.

Nino shouted inarticulately as Adrien appeared out of thin air, nearly falling backwards off the bannister of the front steps. He regained his balance with an undignified flailing of the legs, and blinked as if trying to dispel the effect of a camera flash.

“Good morning!” said Adrien, his anxiety all but dissipating at the sight of his friend.

“Well there’s an oxymoron for you,” said Nino, yawning and knuckling away the sleep in his eyes. “S’no such thing as a good morning. If you’re awake, it’s already bad.”

“What _are_ you doing up so early?” asked Adrien, hopping onto the bannister to sit beside him.

“Couldn’t fall back asleep,” he sighed. “I’m still getting used to like… I dunno, everything. Everybody is so loud and my brain like, can’t decide what to process a lot of the time. I tried earplugs for a while, but they sort of hurt your ears after a few nights… and don’t even get me started on the smells.”

“Well, you know what I’m going to suggest.”

“Dude, it’s too early for riddles,” groaned Nino.

“Magic!”

“Oh,” said Nino. “Okay, not a riddle, just your answer to everything. Yeah, I probably should’ve guessed that. You got some kinda anti-ear-chafing charm on you?”

“I was thinking more like, a muffling spell or something,” said Adrien. “Although you might be on the right track with the charm bit. I don’t think we could reasonably expect you to ask to be uh, ear-muzzled every night.”

“Okay, remember, I’ve been at this school like, barely a month,” said Nino, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “You gotta explain this magic shit to me like I’m an infant, alright? What’s the difference?”

“Oh. Right. Uh… well, a charm is like… you know, it’s…”

“It’s a kind of enchantment,” drawled Alya’s voice from behind them. The boys turned in perfect synchronization to blink at her. “Generally it permanently alters inherent qualities, which is what separates it from other enchantments, which can be undone. If you want to undo a charm, you need to just charm the thing the other way around again.”

“Well look who’s been paying attention in class all of a sudden,” said Nino, sniffing haughtily and turning back the way he had been, while Adrien grinned at Alya and waved good morning.

“As if!” she snorted, hopping onto the bannister with an ease that belied her nature. She sat on the slope, tucked in against Nino’s side by gravity (if nothing else). “It just so _happens_ that Marinette specializes in charms. Now what are we charming?”

“Nino’s ears,” Adrien answered promptly, cutting off whatever Nino had been about to retort with. The werewolf snapped his mouth shut with a sullen _click!_

“They _are_ pretty huge, huh.”

“I swear to god, Césaire,” Nino growled. “You’re a fucking fox. Your ears are like the size of my hand.”

“Man, I forgot how cranky you are in the morning,” said Alya, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe we should charm _you_ to be _polite.”_

“To be fair, you did just insult him,” said Adrien, kicking his heels against the brick with a steady grin. This was nice. This was… relaxing, in a way. Their magic was calm despite their horsing around, and the easy slope of their shoulders helped him calm some of his lingering anxieties.

Everything… was going to be okay. One way or another. Maybe not the murder part, so much, but the attack had been resolved pretty quickly—and he’d sign a contract one day. It wasn’t too late. Friendship was turning out to be more of a balm than a challenge, particularly when he could just sit back and observe without wrecking anything.

“The trouble is I hear too well,” Nino grumbled. “So if you can stop being a big mean jerk for five minutes and give me some tips—”

“Oh, Adrien’s on the right track, then,” said Alya, waving an idle hand. “Your brain isn’t used to processing this much sound yet. Marinette can definitely whip something up.”

“What am I whipping?” asked Marinette approaching from the same direction Alya had looking every bit as sleepy and sullen as Nino.

“Nino needs a charm to muffle sounds and smells so he can sleep,” Adrien reported promptly, leaning back to look at her upside down instead of simply turning his head. He grinned, wide and excited, eager to see her work. 

“Oh,” said Marinette, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. “Um, yeah, I can do that. Do you have anything you wear to bed? Not like pajamas, like a… like a retainer or something.”

“A what?” asked Adrien.

“A retainer. It like, keeps your teeth from freaking out again when you get your braces removed.”

“Your what?”

“Oh my god, never mind,” groaned Nino. “I don’t have a retainer. I’ve got some bracelets? I could start wearing one to bed if it’d end my suffering.” He waved his wrist around as she stopped in front of them.

“That’ll work,” said Marinette, laughing brightly as she took his wrist, inspecting the bracelets. “Although they don’t look very comfortable. I could just make up a cloth one or something, when I get home.”

“Ooh!” said Adrien. “Wait! Wait!” He dived into his bag excitedly, rustling through his papers, notebook, and an ungainly jumble of sticks to withdraw a small piece of string triumphantly. “Here! You can use this!”

“What is it?” asked Alya, as they all blinked at the bit of cord in confusion.

“A friendship bracelet!” said Adrien, a little indignantly, frowning at her. It was woven of three different shades of green, and true, he’d messed up the pattern in places so the width varied a bit, but he thought it was still perfectly respectable. “My friend Bridgette showed me how to make them when I was a kid, but I hadn’t really tried again until I met you guys. I made this one last night.”

“For… for me?” asked Nino.

“No, for Chloé,” said Alya, rolling her eyes. “Obviously for you, Nino. You just had a sleepover.”

“He could’ve made it for anybody!” Nino protested, smiling broadly at Adrien. His eyes shone unnaturally bright. “Thanks, man.”

“Of course,” Adrien answered softly. “We’re friends, right?”

“Right.”

Marinette took the piece of fabric from Adrien, breaking them both out of their reverie. “Thanks, Adrien. This’ll be perfect.”

“Where’re _our_ bracelets, Catboy?” asked Alya coyly from Nino’s other side.

“I’m not done with it yet,” said Adrien, blushing a little and fidgeting. “I only had time for one and Nino’s was—”                                

“You’re actually making them?” asked Marinette, laughing in apparent surprise.

“Of course! It’s just that Nino’s only needed a stretching charm whereas yours is gonna have little spots on it, and Alya’s has to work with her illusions so I need to ask Tikki about enchanting the string first—”

“You don’t have to explain, Adrien,” Alya interrupted, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. “I… thanks. That’s actually really sweet of you.”

“Dost mine ears deceive me, or is Alya being sincere?” Nino stage-whispered to Marinette.

“It’s been known to happen,” she said evasively. “Now come on, I’m sure Mlle. Bustier has unlocked the classroom by now and it’s too bright out here.”

“Yes ma’am,” chorused her animal companions, hopping off the bannister to head in.

“You’re welcome,” Adrien added, elbowing Alya gently in the ribs.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get a full head on us.”

“Head full of what? Helpful facts? Too late, I’m very smart,” said Adrien, grinning.

“Lie,” said Marinette.

“Listen, if you call me out every time it stops being funny.”

“It really doesn’t,” said Nino, laughing at Adrien’s put-upon scowl.

“Uh… hey, guys?” said Marinette, stopping abruptly. Adrien dropped back a step, half in front of her, looking around to see what had given her pause.

Two adults, whom Adrien knew by sight but not by name, were in the process of bolting a large, ornate door frame to the floor of the basketball court.

“Well that can’t be good,” said Nino, laughing nervously as they all stared in trepidation.

“Are… should we like… ask them what’s happening, or…?” Adrien asked hesitantly. The one on the left had been the assistant in his magical beasts class—Otto? O… something.

As usual, Alya was one step ahead of him.

“Papa!” she called, prancing into the courtyard with no hesitation.

“ _’Papa’?”_ Adrien echoed incredulously, looking back at Nino and Marinette. She was grinning, but Nino looked every bit as flabbergasted as he felt.

“Otis is her _dad?_ ” Nino asked Marinette faintly, a hand over his chest as if he could calm his heart with pressure alone.

“Way to use those noses, boys,” said Marinette, smiling between them affectionately.

“Hey, I barely know anything about my nose,” Nino protested indignantly.

“And I barely know anything about parents!” Adrien chimed in. “Do they usually smell like their kids?”

“Don’t you guys have class with him?”

“Well yeah, but—she never said anything! Catdad acts more paternal than that dude, and he’s not even Adrien’s dad!”

“He’s _not_ my—oh. Yeah! What he said!”

Marinette shrugged, her smile widening. “Otis is a very hands-off parent. Alya’s mom is the kitsune, so she’s taken the lead on reigning in the kids. I guess it’s easier to catch foxes when you’ve got four paws yourself.”

“Alya has siblings?” Adrien asked brightly.

“Nope!” said Alya, sauntering back to the group and looking him dead in the eye. “No. We’re not doing this.”

“Alya—” Marinette began, breaking off when Alya raised a hand to silence her.

“Why didn’t you tell us Otis is your dad?” Nino protested, ignoring the second hand, raised to silence him.

Alya blinked. Then turned to Adrien.

“So I have two little sisters, identical twins—”

“Oh, I love twins!” said Adrien, bouncing on his heels. “I always wished I was a twin, that’s so cool, do they like swap places or anything—”

“Ah-ah!” Nino interrupted. “Hold your horses there buddy, she’s trying to throw us off the scent. Answer the question, Césaire. Was it just more fun to make stuff up, or what?”

“I mean, kind of,” she said, shrugging. “I dunno, nobody noticed the resemblance and then it was just like, oh my god. The possibilities are endless. So I started telling people stories to see what I could… get them to believe?”

“Alya, did you lie to the entire student body?” asked Marinette, a little wearily.

“Only our grade!” she insisted. “Besides, lie is a strong word. I prefer to think of it more as… a series of increasingly ridiculous jokes. A very elaborate prank, if you will.”

“Was it necessary to prank Adrien and Nino, too?”

“Well Adrien yes, on account of Nino was standing like, right there and I had already made up a story for him, so—”

“Truth time,” said Nino. “Gimme the _actual_ deets, and I won’t blow the prank for everybody else.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Lahiffe,” said Alya, grimacing. “Alright, fine, yeah, he’s my dad. Most of what I told you guys is true, he _is_ witchborn and he _does_ have a familiar, but that’s where he gets all his magic from. He started studying magical beasts when he met my mom and immediately got the hots for her.”

“Did he like, know?” asked Nino, cocking his head in a distinctly wolfish gesture.

“What, that she was a kitsune? I mean, not at first. She says she would’ve told him eventually anyway but he sort of caught on when she, uh… dropped her glamor.”

“She dropped her glamor?” asked Adrien, surprised. “Before she even told him? Why?”

Alya groaned. Marinette gave her a sympathetic pat on the back, but was visibly fighting a grin. “Okay, well, kitsune glamor doesn’t work like other glamor spells. Those are mostly visual, right? You’ll get some that shift mass around to compensate for like, centaur legs and shit like that, but in general it’s all about the aesthetic they project. Kitsune glamor is… specific.”

“Uh, what?” asked Nino.

“Okay, think of the world as like… a dropdown menu. With different categories and subcategories and all that. So when you’re constructing a glamor, you check all the things you want it to affect, and you can do a fast version that’s just like ‘select all’ or you can do a thorough version that covers the little stuff. With me so far?”

“I… I guess. What are the categories? And what does this have to do with why—” said Nino.

“One of the categories is mirrors.”

“Oh. Oh, my god.”

“She _didn’t,”_ said Adrien, a delighted smile spreading slowly across his face.

“Oh, she did,” sighed Alya. “They were brushing their teeth one morning and he was just like, ‘honey, I can’t help but notice, you seem to have a bunch of tails?’”

“What’d she _do?_ ” asked Adrien, now positively grinning. He bounced on his heels in anticipation, trying to imagine a sleepy-eyed Otis finding himself face to face with a kitsune in a bathroom.

“She panicked, tried to run away, smacked her head on the door, and passed out. In that order. Needless to say, by the time she woke up her glamor had worn off entirely, my dad was freaking out, and she had to answer a very awkward series of questions.”

“Wow,” said Nino. “I guess we know where you get it from, huh?”

Alya cuffed him on the back of the head as they arrived at the classroom, Adrien scampering ahead to hold the door. He bowed elaborately as they passed, trying for ‘cavalier’ and failing the second he met Marienette’s amused eyes, lighting up with embarrassment in response.

He let the door swing closed as they all took their seats, fighting a blush.

Operation: Be Cool was off to a poor start.

“Is this everyone?” asked Mlle. Bustier, striding into the room with a stack of papers in her hands. She set them on Nino’s desk, indicating he should pass them along with a wave of her hand.

“Yes ma’am,” chorused the students, making Adrien jump a little. He swiveled in his seat to look at them. Everyone seemed to be in good health, though a few of his classmates looked… skittish. Ivan kept casting anxious glances at a diminutive girl across the aisle from him, who looked as if she were about to cry.

Adrien wasn’t sure what she was; she smelled like a giant or an ogre, but she was short even by human standards and didn’t appear to have a size glamor on. She had seemed nice, though—very quiet, but polite and friendly whenever she did venture to speak. He hoped she was alright.

He glanced down at the paper in front of him as Mlle. Bustier rooted through her desk for something. It appeared to be a schedule, with a list of safety procedures at the bottom.

“So,” said Mlle. Bustier, sighing a little as she finally got her things together, “yesterday was… a learning experience. In rather a different way than schools are meant to be. I would like to first thank the individuals responsible for apprehending the culprit—” She gestured for them to stand, and Adrien, beet red and stifling a grin that was equal parts embarrassed and proud, obliged. Nino chuckled a little beside him, high and thin, and tipped the brim of his hat down over his eyes. “—and second, chastise you severely. While you aren’t actually in trouble, as your teacher, I am appalled—”

“Mademoiselle,” Marinette cut in, as Adrien tried to disappear into his own ribcage. He couldn’t even defend himself: she was right. He’d behaved irresponsibly and impulsively, with no regard for his own safety, and she had every right to be upset with him, it was just… they hadn’t had a choice. “It isn’t your fault.”

Mlle. Bustier stopped abruptly, shutting her mouth mid-sentence _._ She looked almost pained. “I appreciate the sentiment, Marinette, but you are all my responsibility. And you’re getting ahead of yourself, I’m still on the ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ portion of my little speech,” she sighed.

“To be fair, if you’re feeling this guilty, you’re the one getting ahead of herself,” said Marinette. Adrien twisted a little to peek back at her. She had a small, reassuring smile on her face that helped ease the knot of tension forming in his stomach. If she was this calm about it, they probably weren’t going to be in _too_ much trouble.

He knew it was irrational, but part of him was terrified he was going to be expelled. It had only been a few days, but he was so happy here. He loved making and having friends. He wouldn’t have done anything differently, even if it _did_ mean getting expelled. He would put himself in danger a million times if he could protect them, and this place.

“Marinette,” said Mlle. Bustier, voice strained, “I’m very glad you’re safe, but if you—any of you—are ever in that situation again, it may be more prudent to wake up a teacher. For my sake.”

The seven of them (the Stormy Weather Seven, as Adrien called them, privately, mentally elbowing himself for thinking it) murmured their assent and took their seats as Mlle. Bustier extended her sincerest apologies to those in the class who had been unable to avoid the blast, and promises to all of them that measures were being taken.

“After some discussion among the faculty, it’s been decided that today is going to be centered on recreational activities, and addressing any safety concerns you may have,” she explained at length. “As such, you’re all expected to report to the courtyard, unless anyone has more questions…?”

The nervous girl across from Ivan raised a shaky hand.

“Yes, Mylène?” Mlle. Bustier asked kindly.

“O-oh, well I was just—I was just w-wondering, um, do you thimp—um, think—that we’ll be okay down there, or—”

“Oh my _god_ Mylène, shut up!” snapped Chloé from the front of the class. Adrien frowned across at her, but she was still going. “Either spit it out or just stop talking! You’re so pathetic!”

“Chloé!” Mlle. Bustier said sharply, but it was too late. Mylène’s eyes were welling with tears. Alix, seated beside her, wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders and glowered down at the sphinx, who was huffing impatiently at their teacher.

“Go to the principal’s office,” said Mlle. Bustier, through gritted teeth. “ _Now.”_

“Um, I don’t think my father, who by the way funds this entire school, would like that very much,” said Chloé, unfazed. She examined her nails as if unbothered by the entire situation.

Adrien felt the swell of magic rising behind him, giving him goosebumps and making his own magic bristle defensively. The lights flickered a little, but no one seemed to care.

“Class, go down to the courtyard,” said Mlle. Bustier, gaze skimming across each of them as if warning them to behave. “I will take Mlle. Bourgeois to the principal’s myself.”

“Like _that’ll_ help,” Alya muttered as a smirking Chloé followed their teacher from the room. The class, a little subdued but all determined to comfort Mylène, got to their feet and began drifting towards the courtyard in a little cluster, orbiting the small girl like planets around a star.

“Is she gonna be alright?” Adrien asked quietly, indicating Mylène with a nod.

“Probably,” said Marinette, though she sounded uncertain. “She has some anxiety as it is, so yesterday wasn’t… great. The best thing is to let her know nobody’s mad at her, and that she’s safe.”

“Is she?” asked Nino, raising an eyebrow. “Like, not to be a naysayer, but we are sort of dealing with a mysterious murderer here.”

“Well not today we aren’t!” Alya declared, smacking a fist into an open palm. “We’re going to do some _recreational activities,_ and it’s gonna be _swell.”_

“Is she being sarcastic? I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic,” Adrien murmured. Nino shrugged helplessly.

They arrived at the courtyard to find it slowly filling with students, and their class began to disperse as friends from other classes came together, chattering excitedly. Whatever activity they were in for, the mere idea of it seemed to be working its magic (so to speak); people were laughing and smiling, the lingering fog of dread evaporating in the morning sun. Alix and a boy who smelled strongly of death were flexing at one another, while Max judged their posing with a too-serious frown, amusement crinkling his eyes behind his glasses.

“Rose!” called an unfamiliar voice, and Adrien turned curiously to see who it belonged to.

A boy about his age, with warm copper skin and eyes as green as his own, bounded up to those of their class who had remained together. While initially he seemed intent on Rose and Juleka, who turned to smile at his call, he did a double take.

“Oho!” he said, eyes widening and a brilliant smile spreading across his face. He changed course, leaning in to inspect Adrien with undisguised glee.

Adrien blinked, surprised—humans were usually so keen on their personal space, why did this one—

Wait.

“So you are the kitten!” cried the stranger, and now that he was using his head, Adrien could feel the aos sídhe magic pouring off of him in friendly waves. “Rose and Juleka have had much to say about you! Please excuse me for not introducing myself sooner, I have been away on court business since we heard word of Nooroo.”

“Of—of course,” stammered Adrien, grinning back a little shyly. A member of the court? His own age? Why hadn’t they met? They could have been friends!

“I am Ali, Prince of the Cúnna Sídhthe,” announced the stranger, with an elaborate, flourishing bow. “It is an honor to meet the charge of the great Plagg. My father has told me much of his adventures.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” said Adrien, “I barely know the old man’s name.”

“To be fair,” said Ali, his smile softening, “his true name is rare knowledge.”

“Okay, back up,” said Nino, raising his hands as if to physically stop the pair of them. “What’s a koona? Who is this dude? What’s Catdad’s real name?”

“Cúnna is hounds, the cúnna sídhthe are like the dog version of me and Plagg but full magic. They’re called a lot of stuff. Uh, barghest, grim, you know, just like, black dogs,” said Adrien. “Um, I’m not really sure, but I think Ali is the son of the Dog King? They’re one of our tributary courts. I’ve met his dad before, and he’s pretty nice.”

“Isn’t he?” asked Ali, beaming. “We are always trying to be nice. A pack cannot flourish if there is no kindness at its heart.”

“Oh, uh… yeah,” said Adrien, blinking. “Okay. Well, um, Plagg’s real name is Cnúdánaí, but if you ever call him that he will absolutely curse your firstborn.”

“Uh, _why?”_ asked Alya.

“He doesn’t care for it, you see,” said Ali, seeming amused. He raised a hand to beckon Rose and Juleka to their little cluster, and they came immediately. “He is annoyed to have such a name, when his brother is Growler and his sister is Sharp-tooth. He does not see the merit to being the Purrer.”

“The _what?”_ gasped Nino in evident delight.

“One who purrs, yes?” asked Ali, glancing at Rose for confirmation. He wrapped an easy arm around her waist when she nodded, kissing her gratefully on the cheek. “Yes. He is followed by love and pain, and all the things that cats purr for. I often wish I had such a gift—to fill the air with such beautiful humming! Ah, but I am a simple grim, and while I may raise my voice in song—”

“Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt,” said Nino, raising a hand. “But are you and Rose like… a thing? I—I mean like no offense if you are, I just thought she was like, super gay.”

“Oh, super duper,” said Rose, giggling. “Ali is my familiar. That’s how he wound up going here in the first place.”

“It was most fortuitous!” said Ali, beaming wide again. Adrien couldn’t help but smile back. This kid was so bubbly it was practically contagious. His magic emanated off him like a wagging tail, as friendly as the rest of him. “You see, my father—”

“Oh hold up,” said Alya, “something’s happening with the weird door.”

They all turned to look, and found the doorway was filled with a swirling golden light, in front of which stood M. D’Argencourt, the closest thing they had to a gym teacher, holding two rubber balls high in the air.

“It is time,” he announced, very dramatically, “for capture the flag!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoooooooo's ready for some obligatory nerd rants??
> 
> okay, just one obligatory nerd rant. Cú Sídhe! not as well known as their scottish & welsh counterparts, the cù sìth and gwyllgi respectively--and if we're pushing it, the cŵn Annwn. brief aside: the cŵn Annwn are usually white with optional red ears. i'm including them in this analogous list bc they're the hounds of the Welsh counterpart to the realm of the aos sídhe, thereby sort of the counterpart of the hounds of the aos sídhe. but they're not black and they're really more about like, hunting than traditional 'black dogs'. ahem. anyway. 
> 
> those of you who are familiar with such tales as Hound of the Baskervilles and Prisoner of Azkaban may recall that big black dogs have a running association with death and otherworldliness. in the same way that adrien isn't actually bad luck, ali isn't actually a portent of doom, so don't worry about that too much! i mean, you can worry a little, there's a murderer on the loose, but it can't be ali, right? he's so good and sweet. or is he??? 
> 
> on a lighter note i've now published 100k+ of fanfiction so. that is.... something. thank you guys so much for your comments & kudos, i genuinely wouldn't be writing this without you. like i might still be doing the research, but not actually producing something, you know? bless u 
> 
> oh!! before i forget. Cnúdánaí is a fairly obscure irish word that means a purring cat. it's pronounced differently depending on where your accent's from--traditionally my people would've said "c'noo-dawn-ee" but i learned mostly Donegal irish so i say "croo-dah-nai". listen for being such a small fucking country there's about eight million accents so say it how you want and hope for the best eh


	11. Capture the Flag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's capture the flag without a little horsing around? (Also: Nino has some flashbacks. Look out)

“Oh, shit,” said Nino.

“What? What is that?” asked Adrien, glancing nervously between his friends. They all looked terribly excited.

Somehow it wasn’t reassuring.

“Some of you may be accustomed to different rules, so we’re going to go over the Dupont version of things,” said M. D’Argencourt. There was a collective groan from the older students. “Yes, yes! You’re all very eager to tear each other apart, I know! We’ll be playing the rest of the day, so you can all hold in the madness a few minutes more.”

“T… tear each other apart?” Adrien repeated, gaping.

“Not literally,” Marinette hurried to assure him. “He just means… well, we’re very competitive.”

“As we should be!” said Ali, grinning wider than ever. “We’re all friends here, but friends must know each other’s strengths to succeed in battle!”

“I mean I’m hoping I’ll never be in another battle for the rest of my life, but okay,” said Nino flatly.

“Ah, it is only a metaphorical battle!” said Ali. “A battle of strength, a battle of wits, a battle of group projects—hunting, playing, having fun, we work better as a team when we understand our teammates! Has not this been the way with your pack?”

“Don’t have a pack,” Nino muttered, though he didn’t look truly offended, only a little embarrassed. Perhaps a tad sullen.

“Oho! A lone wolf. I hope that today will be good for you, then,” said Ali, his smile becoming a little gentler. “A lone wolf is… lonely.”

Nino hummed noncommittally as M. D’Argencourt resumed speaking, pulling a long wand from his belt with a flourish. He tapped it to his own throat, probably with a voice-amplifying spell of some kind. Adrien looked sideways at his friend, deep in thought.

Lonely.

He knew what it was like to be lonely.

He wished he knew what to do, but he couldn’t just produce a pack of werewolves from thin air. At least, not without getting very, very grounded and probably a little arrested.

_“It is much like capture the flag in mundane schools: There are two teams, each assigned a territory, with the flag being represented by this colorful ball. You are allowed to hide the ball wherever you like. Each team will be provided with maps of the entire arena, including the jails of the opposing team.”_

Descending the stairs, Mlle. Bustier approached their group looking a little browbeaten.

“Mademoiselle?” asked Nino, frowning. She shook her head, waiting for M. D’Argencourt to pause.

_“You will be sent to jail if—and only if—you are tagged by a member of the opposing team while in their territory. A spell does not count as touching unless it has been used to transform your own body. There will be no magic cast against members of the opposing team, but the environment is fair game and illusions will be tolerated as long as they aren’t directly harmful.”_

“He wouldn’t hear of it,” said Mlle. Bustier, pursing her lips in apparent displeasure. “It seems M. Bourgeois is orchestrating some kind of meet-and-greet with another school of magic in the area, and M. Damocles didn’t want to upset or distract him.”

“So she’s getting away with it?” asked Ivan loudly from behind them. “Again?”

_“The first team to get their opponents’ ball back into their territory will be declared the winners. Their actual ball, not an illusion of it. Maps will be distributed as you enter the arena.”_

“Not with me, I assure you,” Mlle. Bustier hastened to assure him. “I had some very stern words with her, and I intend to pursue the matter—”

“But you can’t _do_ anything,” growled Ivan. “None of you can. Nobody will ever hold her accountable!”

Mlle. Bustier opened her mouth to respond, but paused at the call of her name. M. Damocles was perched on the stairs, apparently not having been finished with their discussion. Mlle. Bustier sighed apologetically. “I’ll try,” she promised, crossing the courtyard once again.

_“There will be no spells cast on the ball itself. You cannot turn the ball into a living creature. You cannot make it grow legs or wings or any manner of transportational transfiguration. There will be no illusions on or around it whatsoever! That includes making it invisible—that means you, Joel! No boosting its speed, no storing it in a pocket dimension, no extra planar travel—although the arena itself should restrict that—”_

Ivan growled, a crude human approximation that sounded more like a groan got caught in a garbage disposal than the terrifying snarls Adrien was used to.

“Ivan—” Marinette began, but he shouldered past them all to stand directly in front of the door.

Adrien looked helplessly at his back, the broad shoulders which had so recently shielded him from harm tense with muted fury. He was just useless today, wasn’t he? Everyone needed help, and he couldn’t do _anything._

“Mylène is still upset,” Marinette murmured to the group. Alya seemed to catch on first, glancing initially at the girl herself, then towards Ivan, while Rose and Juleka dipped their heads together, exchanging sympathetic grimaces. Nino’s mouth twisted in understanding, but Ali looked as mystified as Adrien felt. What did Mylène have to do with it?

_“Tunneling is allowed but make sure you use supports, the last cave-in almost got the whole sport banned. Don’t fly too close to the sun. Literally. If you get too high in the name of stealth you may pass out, and I for one don’t want to knit your bones back together when you plummet to earth like Icarus before you.”_

Although, Ivan had been awfully preoccupied with her unease earlier… they must be friends. He must be upset that Chloé was being allowed to torment her without facing justice. He nodded to himself. He would do the same thing for his friends.

“Adrien, no,” said Marinette. He looked back at her; she looked like she was smothering a smile.

Shoot. What did he do? She must be talking about his feelings, since he hadn’t moved in a few minutes—was he wrong?

But then, what…?

“Begin!” called M. D’Argencourt, and students began filing through the magical portal, interrupting Adrien’s train of thought. Time for capture the flag! Except the flag was a ball for some reason. And something about knitting. Well. He’d figure it out as he went along.

The door loomed tall and golden over their heads, and Adrien stared up at it as he was herded through the glimmering portal it contained. It was like looking through a window, if windows were opaque and moved and smelled strongly of magic.

He could feel that it was a sort of containment spell—or a transport spell? It seemed to house a second location, but that location didn’t appear to be on this plane. It was almost a shoddy attempt at mimicking a sídhe’s entrance, with a little pocket dimension tucked into some far more limited space. Before even entering, Adrien could feel the constraints of the half-realm; it was almost like descending the stairs into a Métro station. He had no idea where he was going or why, but he knew it was going to be cramped.

He passed through the magic as if it were a curtain, sidling into what appeared to be a nice, open meadow. The grasses were only a little higher than his ankles, and if he had been in cat form they would barely tickle his stomach. The entire clearing was bathed in bright sunlight, though the air was seasonably cool around him, perfumed with toadflax and celandine and the familiar scents of his classmates.

Around the clearing rose a surprisingly lush forest, brimming with life and tantalizing in its unfamiliarity. The trees appeared almost entirely deciduous, though most still had their leaves, and the ground was a welcoming carpet of crash and underbrush. It was flat for a ways out past the meadow, then sloped up into more challenging terrain, huge boulders littering a hillside and the trunks getting thicker and denser the further he looked. There was no more magic than Adrien had come to expect from the human realm, aside from the students’ and the feeling of being penned in that he still couldn’t fully explain.

He glanced up at the sky, trying to figure out what was going on, and found that they were covered by a membrane of magic, a sort of force field that extended around the doorway behind him.

“Here’s your map, kid,” said an older student, pushing it into his hands with a smile.

“Thanks!” said Adrien, grinning at him and rushing to his friends.

“So is it all forest?” Nino was asking, uncharacteristically tense.

“Looks like,” said Alya, squinting down at the map. The chosen arena closely resembled a soccer field in dimension, but the key indicated most of it was covered in heavy woodland. “There’s this meadow here towards the middle, and it looks like a stream runs through both sides, but—”

“Are you okay?” Marinette asked Nino, putting a worried hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I’m—I will be,” said Nino, grimacing at her when she caught his lie midsentence. “I’m just not good with trees, that’s all.”

“Oh,” said Adrien, heart sinking. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to take you—”

“No, no,” said Nino, waving a hand in dismissal and smiling at him, though it seemed a little forced. “Your place was different. Everything just felt weird there, like, magic and cool. This feels… it reminds me of the woods out by my house when I was growing up.”

“Unhappy memories?” Alya guessed quietly.

“Just one, really,” said Nino, and they let it drop.

“How do we pick teams?” Adrien asked after a moment of somber silence. “Is it like in movies where we all line up and choose captains and—”

“It used to be,” said Alya, laughing as she cut off his excited gushing. He grinned and bounced on his heels, eager to learn about these strange human customs. “I think the thing with capture the flag is that if people don’t like their teams, they’re gonna defect. So we can pretty much just pick and they’ll sort us out if one group gets too much bigger than the other.”

“Hello!” called Ali, approaching their group with a grin as bright as Adrien’s. “Would you like to be on a team with us? I’m eager to see you at work, my feline friend, and Rose has told me much of your magic.” He indicated the other three with a respectful dip of his head. “You would all be formidable allies.”

“True,” said Alya, smirking, “but what’s in it for us?”

“Alya don’t make deals with fairies, I swear to god—” Nino began, but she hushed him almost immediately.

Ali’s smile grew impossibly wider, stretching his face in uncanny directions. His eyes flashed in the sunlight, still vibrant and green but practically glowing now, and Adrien could feel his magic pulse around them. “We are also formidable allies,” Ali told them at last, bowing slightly at the waist.

“You know Rose is tough, and Juleka helped us just yesterday,” Nino scolded. Alya shrugged, still smirking.

“I don’t know what this kid’s about, do I? He could be a big nerd like Adrien.”

“Hey!”

“You know it’s true, Catson.”

“Are you Adrien’s mother?” asked Ali, blinking in shock. “I know some cait sídhthe are half-human, but I hadn’t heard of half-kitsune—”

“No no no no no, no, no, no,” said Alya, wincing as she waved her arms back and forth in an X. “I just like nicknames. Especially funny ones. God, no. Look at him. You think I would have a son this gangling and uncoordinated?”

“Cats are some of the most graceful creatures—”

“And teenagers are some of the least,” said Alya, raising an eyebrow that effectively shut down his protest. Adrien huffed. “Anyway, did you want him to think I was your mother? It’s bad enough everyone thinks Plagg is your dad.”

“What?” asked Ali, frowning. “But that’s ridiculous. Obviously Plagg isn’t Adrien’s father.”

“Oh, obviously the cat sídhe isn’t the father of the cat sídhe, but it’s possible for a kitsune that’s probably younger than he is to have birthed him?” Alya countered.

“They’re fairies, Alya,” said Nino. “Believe me, this is the tip of the iceberg. Species apparently doesn’t mean shit.”

“It is quite common for interspecies children to be born as cait sídhthe,” Ali added. “As far as I’m aware, Plagg’s family is the oldest lineage they possess. My father says it has to do with the way their magic is structured.”

“That’s pretty consistent with what my mother was telling us, then,” said Marinette. “The half-soul, half-magic thing. It makes sense you’d get half per parent, right? What was your dad?”

Adrien shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his feet. “I uh… I don’t know.”

“Oh,” said Marinette. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything—”

“It’s okay,” he hastened to assure her, smiling a little to prove it. It was, really. He’d made his peace with that. It didn’t make him feel bad—it was just awkward. He felt like he should have that information. “I think he must’ve been human, because my mother was full aos sídhe, but there’s sort of no telling with this kind of thing; what kind of fairy you are is sort of like, half genetics, half random, you know?”

“You can improve your chances with a longer lineage of course,” added Ali, gesturing down at his own body, “but it is very unpredictable outside of court families. Why, if I were to sire a child with a human—”

“Please don’t say sire,” muttered Nino.

“—it may be a cú sídhe, a cat sídhe, or even just an especially gifted wizard with an amazing head of hair,” Ali finished, tossing his head of thick, black curls with an unrepentant smile.

“Hey,” said Alix, nodding at them as she approached the group, Rose and Juleka in tow. “You guys red team or black team?”

“That’s a weird binary,” said Nino. “I guess whatever you were gonna be, we just wanna be on the same team.”

“Aren’t our school colors red and black?” asked Alya.

“Red and white,” said Marinette, shaking her head.

“Monsieur D’Argencourt got to pick,” said Alix, sighing heavily. She pulled red sashes out of her back pocket, holding them out to the others. “He went with his family colors again. I said I’d go bring you guys your team colors to get out of hearing about his great-great-whatever for the thousandth time.”

“His great what?” asked Adrien, intrigued. He tied the sash around his forehead like a bandana to try and keep any sweat out of his eyes.

“His gramps was like an evil wizard or something, I dunno. He’s weirdly proud of it for some reason,” said Alix, shrugging. “Actually hey, I think the fairies are the ones who took him out?”

“We _may_ have given him an enchanted sword,” said Ali, sheepishly rubbing his neck when Adrien turned to him for confirmation. “Well, in point of fact, his familiar turned _into_ a sword, but as I understand it the familiar’s court wanted to have it back and the old fool objected, so they destroyed him. They were quite irritated by the revelry afterwards, too.”

“Why?” asked Marinette.

“Why wouldn’t they be?” asked Adrien, blinking. “The humans were making fun of them!”

“Uh, what?” asked Nino.

“What do you mean _what?”_ Adrien echoed, flabbergasted.

“Here they had lost one of their own to a ridiculous gaffe, and when they went to reclaim the remains were assaulted by a human with delusions of grandeur which refused to yield them,” said Ali, apparently more used to this human way of thinking than Adrien was. “Upon vanquishing him, they were forestalled by droves of humans thanking them for their involvement, which, to any sensible member of the aos sídhe, implies that they were thanking them for their beloved friends sacrificing themselves in a vain attempt to further a human’s glory.”

Adrien nodded solemnly. It was obvious.

“Adrien, the way humans see it is that the aos sídhe liberated them from tyranny. They disregard the fallen member entirely and look only at the actions of the intervening party.”

“Wh—but why?” asked Adrien, blinking. “That’s where it all began, how can they leave out the beginning like that—”

“Linear thinking!” said Rose, bright as a sunspot as she made her way to Ali’s side. “One of the things I’ve learned from Ali is that we have very different ideas of both collectivism and time. You see the others as being directly responsible for their friend’s actions, whereas humans often act in their individual interests. And of course, the narrative was skewed by the limits of human memory.” She dipped her head in a graceful demurral, peering up at them through her eyelashes. “We forgive and forget much more easily. We move on.”

“But… but how can you move on when things are out of balance?” asked Adrien. He was struggling with this concept. How could you trust someone who had betrayed you so thoroughly?

“Well, they have to apologize, or not have meant it,” Rose explained patiently. Ali exchanged a helpless grimace with Adrien above her head.

“That’s… that’s all?” asked Adrien, hesitating. He wasn’t sure he had this right. It couldn’t be so simple.

“It isn’t like a deal,” said Ali, “these human friendships may be shorter, and more tumultuous, but if you can forgive them their lack of decorum, you’ll find there are no greater friends in any realm.”

“Let’s save the lesson on friendship for another day, alright?” asked Alix, making a face. “I’m gonna go find Max and Kim before we start, you guys keep a sharp eye out for any intruders, alright?”

Adrien nodded solemnly, turning to survey the competition. The meadow was slowly dividing in two, those in black to the north and those in red to the south. Though he was fairly confident in his ability to sense an illusion, it couldn’t hurt to get a good sense of who the enemy was.

The red team seemed to be composed of their classmates, with a few older or younger members sticking with small clusters of friends. It seemed the entire process was determined by who was friends with whom, actually; as far as he knew from people’s species and abilities, no one had paid any mind to strategy. Though doubtless familiars would work well with their partners’ friends, and vice versa.

Ali and Rose, for example, had very similar attitudes, drawing people in with genuine kindness and big smiles. It made sense, in a strange way—a portent of death following obediently at the heels of a necromancer. Adrien smiled to himself. That was just the sort of dynamic he wanted with his witch: complementary, peaceful, a partnership based in mutual trust and respect.

Even the more contrary pairings seemed to attract the same kind of people. He could see Chloé and her witch, a quiet and jumpy creature whose name he hadn’t caught, bickering across the meadow. Well—Chloé was bickering, and the witch was waving her hands in supplication or surrender. They were (unfortunately) on the red team as well, though Adrien hoped to avoid them by simple distance.

Between the grousing sphinx and his more sedate companions, Adrien couldn’t help but notice Ivan standing off by himself, fuming. The girl he’d been so preoccupied with earlier, Mylène, was being comforted by a small contingent of the class that seemed in better spirits than Ivan—though his envy was obvious.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Adrien asked Marinette quietly, indicating their friend with a short nod. She followed his eyes and grimaced.

“He should be,” she said carefully. “He does have kind of a temper, but he never lashes out or anything. He’s a good kid.”

“Right,” said Adrien, swallowing. It’d be fine. Ivan would be fine.

Sure, there was a murderer running around who could apparently possess people, and Ivan could shoot fire out of his hands, but it’d be fine.

“Adrien,” said Marinette, shooting him a look. He stuck his tongue out at her and tried to rein in his worrying a bit. They should be safe here, anyway. It was basically impenetrable, aside from that doorway.

“Alright, students,” said M. D’Argencourt’s magically enhanced voice from beside the door, “we’ll begin in five minutes. Take this time to discuss strategy and place your troops—or just run off into the woods, Mademoiselle Kubdel, I’m sure that will work just fine.” He broke off into sullen muttering as first Alix, then the corpselike boy from their class, and then a swarm of other students took off sprinting into the trees.

Adrien laughed joyously, their energy contagious, bouncing on his heels and grinning at their small group, who grinned in return and took off running.

Trees became a green blur around him as Adrien raced through the forest, leaping over logs and ferns and tangling ivy and brambles, feeling the air whip against his face and forearms, flaring his shirt out behind him like a cape. He was almost silent between his companions, who trampled noisily through branches and crunching leaves, with the exception of Juleka and Ali, the ghost and the darkness, gliding over obstacles like a stream coursing over rocks.

Behind them, Nino stumbled.

Adrien hesitated, dropping back behind the group to check on him; he was confident that between their noses, they could catch right up—and Nino hadn’t been doing well earlier.

“You good?” he asked lowly, falling into pace beside him. Nino was caught in a heavy, staggering jog, his breaths coming much too harsh for this level of activity.

“Running—um—forest,” wheezed Nino. Adrien moved in front of him, running sideways until he could slow them to a stop. They were in a small clearing, with a few grasses curling around the leaf litter here and there, and a spray of wildflowers slicing along one strip of sunlight. He could just hear their friends crashing further ahead over Nino’s gasping.

“Forest?” Adrien repeated, keeping his voice low and soothing. Nino’s magic was crackling all along his skin, and Adrien was afraid to touch him, lest one or both of them be shocked.

“Wolf—wolf,” Nino managed eventually, looking up at him with bright golden eyes, lighter than they should be. The smell of his fear was beginning to catch up to them now that they were standing still, though it didn’t seem to be doing Nino any favors. “There’s—no, there was—there was a wolf. I—I was running. Through the forest.”

_Oh._

A bad memory.

A new werewolf.

“It’s okay,” Adrien forced out mechanically. It wasn’t, but there wasn’t any danger, so it wasn’t really a lie, was it? “It’s—the wolf is gone. We’ll protect you.”

“Know that,” Nino huffed, but he smiled a little. It looked like it hurt. “I know it, in my head, it just—I keep—I hear it breathing, or—I see it running. I feel—” He broke off with a shudder, doubling over for a moment. Adrien followed, placing a hesitant hand on his back, hoping he didn’t make things worse.

“I feel its teeth,” Nino finished in a whisper, looking up at Adrien. He stayed bent over, curled protectively around his shoulder, shaking like a leaf under Adrien’s hand.

“It isn’t real,” said Adrien. “I know you know, but—keep telling yourself that. Tell me—tell me about what is real. What do you hear?”

Nino paused. “My… I hear my heart. My breathing. Your breathing. Um. There’s… there’s a stream somewhere nearby. Birds. Alya’s talking up that way.” He waved a vague hand ahead of them. “Can’t tell how far. Not used to it yet.”

“What do you see?” Adrien asked, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

“Flowers,” said Nino. “Um. Trees. That one’s an oak, I think? Don’t know any other trees with leaves like that. I see… I see some moss on those rocks over there. I see where everybody kicked up leaves ahead of us. There’s a little hollow in that tree there, too, see that?” He pointed, and Adrien looked. It was a natural hollow, too shallow for anything to live in, but he smiled nonetheless.

“I see it. What do you feel?”

“Feel your hand,” said Nino, laughing a little. He straightened up slowly. “Feel a bit jittery, but it feels easier to breathe. Felt like someone was crushing my lungs before, but they’re easing up now.” He opened and closed his fists, turning his hands over and staring at them as if to make sure they were his. “Feel myself—being a human. Hands work. Fingers work.”

“Good,” said Adrien, smiling wide at him. “That’s good! Next time I’m gonna ask you to tell me what you smell, so you’d better get your scent profiles sorted out soon. Do you wanna wait for a while, or catch up to everybody?”

Nino was quiet for a moment, then squared his shoulders. “Let’s catch up,” he decided. “It’s better with more people around anyway. Helps keep me uh, grounded.”

“Here, let’s hold hands so we don’t get separated again,” said Adrien, holding it out to him. Nino blushed a little, but accepted it, muttering something about fairies and social norms. “I know I can run pretty fast, so I’d almost definitely leave you in the dust,” he added with a sharp grin, elbowing Nino gently in the ribs.

“Uh, as if,” snorted Nino. They picked their way through the forest at a much slower pace, towards where the voices had stopped ahead. “I’d kick your ass in a straight sprint and you know it.”

“Ah, but this isn’t a straight sprint, is it? We’re going cross-country.”

“Dunno if it counts when they just let us loose in the woods like they’re releasing deer into the wild or something,” said Nino.

They reached the group faster than Adrien had expected, to curious but welcoming looks all around. Nino lifted their joined hands in the air briefly, taking a dramatic bow.

“Sorry dudes,” he said when he straightened, smiling apologetically. “Was off chasing squirrels, but it’s all cool now. What’s the sitch?”

“Think we’ve started officially,” said Alya, shrugging. “Haven’t heard anything for a while, but we’re pretty close to the flag, I think. Chloé had it and she passed through not far from here.”

“Ugh, how did Chloé get it?” said Marinette, a scowl twisting her face. “After all that stuff this morning—”

“It’s cool, Ivan and Max were going after her to keep her from doing anything… ridiculous,” said Alya.

“Is that wise?” asked Ali, frowning between them. “Ivan was in poor spirits. If he’s upset with Chloé—”

“Being upset with Chloé is part of being in this class,” said Juleka. “No one’s ever attacked her before.”

“Well, until yesterday,” said Rose, sighing a little. “Although it hardly counts.”

Ali slung his arm over her shoulders in a gesture that was both protective and reassuring. “It will be fine, I’m sure! What are the odds of it happening two days in a row? Let’s enjoy this beautiful morning and play some capture the flag.”

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

A stone’s throw away, crouching awkwardly between a pair of saplings, Ivan stood frozen as foreign magic washed over his body.

“Hello, Stoneheart. I am Piseóg.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been brought to my attention that some of you like, go to my school. uh. go, geoducks, go?
> 
> The red and white school colors for Dupont were decided on because of that banner on the front of the school. ...... any resemblance to the school colors of High School Musical are entirely coincidental and only like 80% on purpose 
> 
> Red and black teams was of course more of a reference to their canon color scheme, though Darkblade gave us a nice justification, even if it violates THE MOST IMPORTANT heraldic guidelines.... I know they have an aesthetic to commit to but my god, people, the rule of tincture is there for a reason. What are we, animals?
> 
> The disturbingly observant among you may have noticed I sent black north and red south, which was less a logistic concern (I may be a nerd but I refuse to calculate the angle of the sun on a particular French morning) and more a nod to the Black Turtle and Vermillion Bird of Chinese astronomy. I may get into them later but as it stands don't worry about it. Just another weird detail I'm sure celestial turtles aren't going to be relevant at all, nope 
> 
> also idk if adrien's handling of nino's.... situation is what you're Supposed To Do, but it does help in similar situations--mostly disassociating. i'm not a doctor


	12. Stoneheart (Part One)

“Do we have like, a plan of attack or anything?” Adrien asked eagerly. The rest of the group exchanged glances, as if comparing schemes—only for Marinette to shake her head at him.

“Sorry Adrien,” she said, “none of us are really suited for offense here. Except Alya, but I don’t think she cares so much if we win.”

“Why—oh,” said Adrien, sighing at the kitsune. “Foxes hate rules.”

“Hey!” said Alya, “I’ll have you know, I love some rules. It’s the bad ones or the boring ones I object to. Winning capture the flag is sort of… meaningless. It’s much more fun to tag people or catch sneak attacks or something, you know?”

“I’d think you would love the stealth missions,” Nino told her, raising an eyebrow. “Make a few illusions, turn into a squirrel or something… they’d never see it coming.”

“See it, no,” said Alya, “but smell it? They just might. I’m very good, but scents are hard to match, even if there weren’t people who can see through illusions. One good spell and I’m toast.”

“You can turn into _toast?”_ gasped Adrien. That seemed… extremely dangerous. What if someone found her and thought, hey, free toast? “Why—”

“It’s an expression, Adrien,” said Rose kindly. “It means she would be caught.”

“Oh.”

“Can’t you do physical transformations too, though?” Nino argued.

“Well yeah, but only two at a time, and it wouldn’t explain why a squirrel was running around carrying a dodgeball through the woods.”

“You could make it look like an acorn. A perfectly innocent bipedal squirrel who just happened to find the sweetest loot of its life.”

“Jeez, slather me in barbecue sauce while you’re at it, why don’t you? There are at least three harpies on that team and you know damn well snacking isn’t against the rules.”

“Oh good, I was starting to worry I’d brought these for nothing,” said Marinette, interrupting their bantering with the distinct sound of food shaking in a paper bag.

There was a collective gasp of appreciation.

“Marinette have I ever told you I love you?” asked Alya, taking a croissant and wrapping herself around her friend in the same movement.

“Once or twice,” Marinette returned, grinning into her curls. She wrapped one hand around Alya’s waist to support her, the other holding the bag out to the group. Adrien reached in eagerly, immediately chomping into his own croissant.

“So we’re just waiting around for somebody to try and sneak past us?” he asked through his first mouthful.

“More or less,” said Juleka, shrugging. She was looking at the food, but fortunately didn’t seem upset that they were enjoying it in front of her. “Those of you with better senses should keep a lookout though. I’m really better suited to reconnaissance.”

“She can turn invisible!” said Ali, puffing out his chest as if it were _his_ skill. Actually, was it? Which of them had summoned Juleka?

“Yeah, but I’m intangible,” said Juleka, with a trace of amusement. “So it’s not like I can tag anybody.”

“Well now there’s a thought,” said Alya, tapping her chin. “I bet a physical transformation could—”

“You can make her tangible?” Rose interrupted, eyes wide. Alya blinked.

“Uh, yeah, I think so. I can turn anything into anything, as long as I’m awake.”

“Could you turn this rock into gold or something?” asked Nino, picking up small rock. “Or like—if I turn into a wolf could you turn me back?”

“Well yeah but you’d still be a wolf in your brain, and that’s pretty short for two transformations, so—”

“Excuse me,” said Juleka. “I don’t mean to be a bother but—could you… try? To make me tangible?”

Alya blinked again. “Sure,” she said after a moment. She reached up and plucked a leaf from a hawthorn tree, beckoning the ghost to her side. She held it awkwardly against Juleka’s forehead (or where her forehead would be, if she were tangible).

She closed her eyes, and for a moment, Adrien felt her magic swell, spiraling from the soul at her neck until it folded around her, encircling her arm and running into the leaf. She poured so much magic into it that Adrien was briefly concerned it would catch ablaze, unable to handle the strain, until it settled abruptly, and the rest of her magic retreated to her necklace.

He sniffed experimentally, but couldn’t smell anything different about her—Juleka seemed as much a ghost as ever. There was a faint smell of smoke in the air, but he didn’t think it was her; it seemed a fair distance away, although perhaps it was Alya’s magic making it so. The leaf remained stuck to her forehead, but that proved little.

Juleka swallowed and reached out a trembling hand, attempting to press it against the trunk of the hawthorn.

It worked.

She gasped as if it burned, curling her fingers against the bark with wide, hungry eyes. The trembling in her hands spread throughout her whole body. Her face became more intense with each passing second, her expression sharpening beyond a human’s capabilities, and her form seemed to blur around the edges.

“Juleka…?” Rose asked hesitantly. Juleka turned—or she must have, although Adrien didn’t see it happen. She was hunching closer to the tree one second and face-to-face with Rose the next.

“Rose,” said Juleka. Her voice was trembling too, and she reached for her witch without hesitation.

Rose reached back, and their fingers wound together. Juleka’s form settled as she smiled, bright and blinding, and Rose laughed breathily, leaning her head against her solid shoulder.

“Jeez,” said Alya, sighing dramatically and all but collapsing onto the bole of the hawthorn. “Don’t _do_ that! I thought I broke you!”

“It’d take more than that to break our Juleka,” said Ali, with that same glint of pride. “She’s a force of nature in her own right. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had been an elemental, in life.”

“ _I_ would,” Juleka laughed, reaching out to tap him on the nose, apparently just because she could. He looked delighted. “I don’t think there was a drop of magic in me, Ali.”

“Not a drop, but a deluge,” said Ali, beaming. “You are—” He broke off midsentence, abruptly alarmed, lifting his head like a hunting dog scenting prey.

“What—” Nino began, but Ali raised his hand to silence him.

Adrien smiled, turning his senses outwards. Their first incursion! Already they were an unstoppable team. There was a distant crashing, and the whiff of smoke he’d caught earlier had grown a little closer, but—

Adrien’s blood ran cold.

Screams.

There were screams.

Not the joyful shrieking of children having fun, but terrified screams, commanding screams. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

“What is it?” Marinette whispered after a tense thirty seconds or so of their inhuman party members straining their superior senses. She looked worried, and for good reason; their dread would be palpable even to someone _without_ the ability to sense emotions.

“Something bad is happening,” said Adrien, a little uncertainly. He pointed in the direction of the screams, a little to the northeast. “Someone’s… in trouble. They’re moving closer but not directly towards us, I don’t think.”

“West,” Ali agreed solemnly. He consulted his copy of the map. “Farther from the stream, towards the edge of the arena.”

“I smell smoke,” said Nino. He was hesitating to volunteer information, but his nose was good enough for that, at the very least.

Adrien jumped when Rose laid a small hand on his shoulder, her other still clasped in Juleka’s. “Between your senses and the magic detecting, you have the best chance at detecting them,” she told him. “Take the others and head as far away as you can.”

“What?” asked Adrien, gaping at her. “We—I mean we can’t just leave you!”

“You heard her,” said Alya, crossing her arms.

“Alya, you’re part of the others,” said Marinette at her side. She looked to Rose. “That isn’t happening.”

“The Skull and Crossbones are a well-oiled machine,” said Rose. “We’ve trained in combat situations, you haven’t. It’s simple.” Her huge blue eyes were shining with determination, leaving no room for argument.

“The Skull and Crossbones?” echoed Adrien.

“Ah, I picked that!” said Ali, his smile unnerving in the face of danger. “You see, Juleka is the Skull, I’m the Bones—because dogs like bones, you see? And Rose is the Cross because of the crossroads where she summoned me, and the crosses where she summoned Juleka. She is our heart—”

“I’m gonna be real, I was just calling you guys ‘Team Death’ in my head,” said Nino.

“I suppose that is acceptable,” said Ali, grinning a little wider and dipping his head in a small acquiescence. “While I am the only Death here, Juleka’s mere existence demonstrates Rose’s command over my domain. Before I was even aware of her, she was challenging me in ways I had never been challenged. Why—”

“We get it, you love Rose,” groaned Alya. “We all do, she’s amazing, can we get back to the encroaching threat of dismemberment, please?”

Adrien looked to Ali, but his magic was undisturbed. He seemed perfectly at ease, jovial and relaxed as he moved to Rose’s side like a knight, his back straight, shoulders squared. He had the power and nobility a familiar _should_ have, a strength that Adrien would have envied had he not found it so impressive—and so foolhardy.

“I’m not leaving,” said Adrien, the words escaping before he’d fully thought them through. “Ali, listen. The fight yesterday—it was aos sídhe magic. It’s Nooroo’s. You can’t beat him alone.”

Ali stared at him for a moment, then looked to Juleka for confirmation. At her nod, he turned back to Adrien, and his smile was less confident, less carefree—but it was still there.

“Adrien,” he said, and the feeling of Adrien’s name from the cú sídhe’s mouth was caked in magic, a command for his attention that had half of his soul sitting up and listening, “I am never alone.”

The smell of smoke was getting stronger, and Adrien could hear a dull roar of flames tangling with crashes and shrieks. He looked around at Nino, Alya, and Marinette, his three new friends, his three best friends—and remembered the terror and confusion of yesterday that had threatened to rip them all to pieces before his eyes.

“We’ll—we’ll stay nearby,” he told Ali. He couldn’t bear to abandon them entirely, couldn’t bear to leave them without backup—but even he knew an unbound cat sídhe was no match for a prince and his witch. A kitsune with a single spell left, a werewolf on the verge of transformation, and Marinette—strong, capable Marinette, who he’d never seen look so scared—he couldn’t let them be collateral damage. If the Skull and Crossbones said they could do it, Adrien had to trust them.

“We’ll stay _here,”_ said Alya sharply.

“We just need to get far enough that whatever it is can’t take us all out at the same time,” said Adrien, shaking his head. He moved away from Rose and Ali, trying to shepherd his friends into the relative safety of the trees, hoping they could outrun the fire. “We can provide support from a distance, or if they need reinforcements, back them up. But right now… right now, we’d just get in their way,” he said heavily.

“Bullshit—” began Alya, but she stopped when Nino tugged lightly at the fabric of her jacket, pale yellow eyes glued to the ground.

“Please,” he said simply, his voice shaking almost as much as the rest of him. “I’m—I can’t be—not here. I’m no good here.”

Alya’s scowl melted into something softer, and she let out a short, harsh breath. “Fine. Alright. But if it looks like they’re in trouble—”

“We go right back in,” said Adrien immediately. He clasped Nino on the shoulder, steering him away from the encroaching din, and watched Alya do the same to Marinette, who clutched anxiously at the fabric of her elbow. “Are… is Marinette okay?” he asked hesitantly.

“She will be,” said Alya, sighing a little. “She gets caught in loops sometimes. She can feel her own emotions, too, and if there’s too much of something—there isn’t really a way to stop it. It’s like if your brain had a button marked ‘anxiety’ and someone decided to give that button ten more buttons.”

“Oh,” said Adrien. “I get like that too, with my magic-sensing.” No wonder she knew what to do.

Man, he wished he knew what to do.

As the roars and screams grew louder, Marinette grew twitchier. Adrien wasn’t sure if it was because all those big feelings were coming closer, or if they were just finally within her realm of hearing.

“It’s okay,” Alya soothed, leaning supportively against her shoulder. Adrien raised an eyebrow. He wouldn’t exactly risk saying that to a living lie detector at the moment, but Alya’s confidence was enough to lend him a little hope.

On the other, he had grown up among creatures who couldn’t lie—and not being able to lie made one the master of the technically-true.

He almost asked what was okay, but managed to restrain himself when Nino let out a low, apparently involuntary whine.

“Hey,” said Adrien softly, scuffing his shoe across the forest floor to get Nino’s attention. “They can handle this.”

While Adrien, as a cat sídhe, _could_ lie, he didn’t like to. Plagg had drilled into him from an early age that it was a bad habit to get into, because there were all manner of creatures, spells, and artifacts that could elicit truths. If he had no experience crafting his words, or knowing a person’s expectations, he could very easily give too much away and get kidnapped or cursed or eaten or something.

Tikki just told him she didn’t think lying was very nice.

Between his drive to impress Tikki, and his endless competition to out-snark Plagg, Adrien knew his way around a sentence. The only lies he told were deliberate, usually jokes, simply because he didn’t _need_ to lie. This, however, wasn’t a lie—even a lie of omission.

He knew all too well the power a prince of the aos sídhe could wield, and if Ali had chosen Rose then she must be extraordinarily competent. Their forces combined could level Paris in hours.

The only problem was, Nooroo could level it in minutes.

It was a gamble, then, his assurances to Nino—they could handle almost anything, but a member of the Queen’s Court wasn’t just anything. If this was the same attacker as yesterday… However much power Piseóg had channeled into their latest aberration would decide the outcome of this battle before it even began.

Yesterday’s incident had grossly underestimated them—would they continue their barrage, or adjust accordingly?

Adrien shook his head as if the movement would jar the thoughts loose. There was no telling whether it was Piseóg, it could be—

“CHLOÉ!” roared a jarringly familiar voice.

Adrien sagged so much in his relief that he nearly slumped to the ground, breathing out a massive sigh. It was Ivan. Ivan had just lost his temper, and was trying to attack Chloé. Unexpected, certainly, but not impossible. Chloé raced past their hiding spot, shrieking wordlessly, her glamor peeling away just enough to reveal a pair of feathered wings flapping wildly behind her.

Then Ivan staggered into view.

He was covered from head to toe in bubbling lava, dripping off of him too slowly to be natural, the forest around him catching ablaze before he even touched it. His eyes and mouth were yawning chasms of searing white light, moving erratically as he screamed at Chloé’s back.

“Does he, um… is that normal?” Adrien whispered, as softly as he could, getting his feet under him again.

The shock and fear on his classmates’ faces was answer enough. Adrien gritted his teeth. Piseóg again, then.

“What’s he feeling, Marinette?” Alya asked quietly. Marinette shook her head, pressing her hands over her ears as she curled into her knees, as if hiding.

“That’s not a great sign,” said Nino from her other side, grimacing.

“We can safely intuit rage, right?” suggested Alya. “Maybe embarrassment?”

“He was being strange about Mylène earlier, too,” said Adrien. “Shame?”

“Does it super matter?” asked Nino. “It’s not like we can do anything about it when he’s _on fire.”_

“We’re not _going_ to do anything. We’re letting them handle it,” said Adrien, as sternly as he could in a whisper.

The Skull and Crossbones did seem to have the situation somewhat under control, a tree dropping directly between Ivan and Chloé. Ivan was a juggernaut, too massive to change direction quickly enough, and reacted too late to intervene. He roared in frustration as Chloé slipped away.

“I cannot be stopped by _twigs!_ ” bellowed Ivan, lifting his fists over his head and slamming them into the log in a burst of wood and fire that was almost immediately extinguished by a huge burst of water.

Surprised, Adrien looked for the source of the cannon stream, finding a fierce-looking Rose pointing at Ivan, Ali’s hand at her back. The cú sídhe wasn’t smiling for once, and his eyes were a sharp yellow instead of green, magic pouring off of him in waves.

Ivan screeched as he was buffeted by what was essentially a river, steam hissing as it formed instantly at the contact. Everything was a clamor of rocks and fire and humidity, roaring and snarling and gushing until the entire clearing had disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

When it cleared, Ivan was standing perfectly still, encased in hardened rock except for his eyes.

“There now,” called Ali, smiling again as he and Rose approached, dousing the smoldering forest before the flames could spread, “Didn’t I tell you?”

“Alya!” called Rose, open and innocent once again. “Can you lock the shell in place?”

“Yeah,” said Alya, voice heavy with relief. She sprang back into the clearing with inhuman grace, slapping a sopping wet oak leaf onto Ivan’s forehead. His burning eyes narrowed.

Alya skipped back, grinning, and gestured for them to come out of hiding. Adrien smiled in return, guiding a still-panicked Marinette to her best friend and turning to help Nino, whose face was screwed up at the reek of sodden earth.

“We still need to figure out what happened yesterday,” said Juleka, clambering over the forest floor a little unsteadily. Apparently being under the influence of gravity again was throwing her off.

“Well, I mean—we beat her,” said Adrien, shrugging.

“Well yeah, but like, do we just need to knock him unconscious or something?” asked Alya. “Is it like an awareness thing or a ‘you must defeat me within these parameters’ thing?”

“Ali?” asked Adrien, turning to the prince. Ali was inspecting Ivan’s motionless form with a thoughtful frown, but turned at Adrien’s voice. “What do you think?”

“It seems to be the latter,” said Ali.

“Have we fulfilled those parameters, then?” asked Rose, coming to stand beside him.

“I don’t know,” confessed Ali. “What’s this in his hand?”

He reached up for Ivan’s raised fists, one of which was clasped around something dark and purple, and then, inevitably, everything went wrong.

Again.

Ivan’s foot shot out, faster than any of them could track, connecting full force with Ali’s chest. The cú sídhe was hurled backwards, colliding with the bole of an oak with a resounding crash that Adrien felt down to his bones.

“No!” yelled Juleka, surging forward, and Rose wasn’t moving, staring wide-eyed at Ali as he slid to the forest floor in a heap, her knees buckling just as Juleka reached her side and tackled her out of the way of Ivan’s swinging fist.

Alya cursed as she moved forward automatically, drawing Ivan’s attention. She scooped up a handful of debris from the ground—charred wood, mostly—and hurled it at the back of Ivan’s head.

He growled, but turned to face her, and Adrien took the opportunity to turn to Nino and Marinette, who looked almost as scared as he felt.

“Get back in the bushes,” he urged. “Go—get out of here.”

“Juleka!” yelled Alya. “Take Rose to Ali! Keep them safe!”

“Way ahead of you!” Juleka called back, voice strained and slightly hysterical. She was dragging Rose over to Ali’s side, the witch now having either gone into shock or fainted dead away.

Adrien took a deep breath, clenched his hands into fists, and surged forward. If he covered their escape, they could make it out of here. Even Alya—she was agile enough to slip away, and Adrien wasn’t much, but he had the magic of the aos sídhe, and he could at least provide a distraction.

For a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that cliffhanger may sound ominous but i'll be updating sooner than usual next chapter--there's a lot going on that i'm very excited to get to, the trouble is it was getting too long! i actually have an outline for this next one, guys, it's gonna be great. maybe not the writing so much, but the speed? look out (also sue me I couldn't resist making stoneheart two parts, I'm weak)
> 
> okay note time. uh. yes. so my rule for kitsunes' physical transformations (vs illusions) is that they get one per tail. it's not based on any kitsune lore, although the tails are--they get more tails as they get older & you know, the ninth one is like #goals. so i just have 'one tail per decade' rather than a more arbitrary system, because i know myself, and i will absolutely get bogged down in lore while we're trying to have a plot over here. 
> 
> she uses hawthorn on juleka for a few reasons, primarily its association in the traditional tree calendar with transformation--but that isn't in itself unique. hawthorn is a member of the rose family (haven't decided if julerose is already canon or they're working on it, but if they aren't already dating you have my solemn oath that they will be by the end of this fic) and of course in the victorian flower language it means hope. however! as a plant it's super flammable (uh oh) and when cut, it smells like death. like, decaying flesh death.
> 
> oak leaf for ivan symbolizing bravery (vic. flower language) and durability/steadfastness, for alya's reckless decisions and her desired outcome of ivan not fuckin' moving for a sec. it also falls conveniently directly after the hawthorn in the celtic tree calendar! hahaha. we're actually in hawthorn season right now, oak's coming up in a couple weeks here. 
> 
> and, of course, the old trinity--oak, ash, and hawthorn to attract the fairies. 
> 
> (hahahaha get it? ash?)
> 
> (because i set everything on fire?)


	13. Stoneheart (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn that may well be the fastest i've ever updated. bone ape the tit ★★★

Alya landed a glancing blow on Ivan’s calf that managed to send him stumbling, and Adrien took the opportunity to dart in and swipe at whatever Ivan had in his hand, only to leap back when Ivan’s free hand came sailing towards his face, nearly catching him in the teeth.

Swearing, Adrien staggered backwards, circling Ivan as he took Adrien’s retreat as a chance to swipe at Alya again.

“Alya, get out of here!” he snapped at her. “I can hold him off, get the others somewhere safe.”

“Um, hell no?” said Alya, scowling from the other side of Ivan. “I was promised a friendship bracelet, and I aim to collect, which means you’re not allowed to be a pancake today, got it?”

“They can’t get out of here safely without one of us, and I have a better chance here, so it’s gotta be you,” he insisted.

“I can. I can get us out,” said Nino, pacing at the edges of the fight like he wanted to jump in but couldn’t find a place.

“You’re barely holding it together, Nino,” said Alya. “We won’t send you out like that alone.”

“I’ll—I’ll have Marinette,” he said, “and I’ll take Ali and Rose, and Juleka. Then you guys can cover each other.”

“Nino—I don’t mean to presume, or anything, but… if you change, you won’t be able to lead us,” said Juleka. “You’re too upset right now, you won’t be in control.”

“I could hurt you,” said Nino, grimacing. He clenched his hands into fists.

“I really doubt it,” said Juleka, “I’m more concerned about getting lost out there, or wandering right back here. You might just run off, and then you’d be all alone in the woods. Plus, I don’t think Marinette or I can carry Ali that far, and she’s not in a condition to be levitating him or anything.”

Adrien risked a glance at Marinette, who was pale and shaking like a leaf, leaned against a tree as if she needed it to remain standing.

“Alya,” he said again, “please.”

“Not on your nine lives,” said Alya. “If we beat him, nobody has to run, right? So let’s beat him.”

“A kitsune with no transformations and a cat sídhe with no contract,” sneered Ivan, his fist passing so near her head he almost grabbed some of her hair. “Against me? I have the power of Piseóg at my disposal. I’ll destroy you all if that’s what it takes to get to Chloé.”

“Jeez, could you try and sound a little less evil, bro?” said Nino, wincing a little as he moved closer. “You’re a good dude. We’re friends, right? You don’t want to destroy us.”

“I don’t, but I _will.”_

“C’mon man,” said Nino, raising his hands in supplication. Adrien and Alya froze as he stepped up to Ivan, who seemed torn. “We’re buds. You don’t have to do this.”

“Are you going to stop me?” asked Ivan, hesitating.

“I think I gotta,” said Nino. He was almost apologetic. “You’d never forgive yourself if—”

He was interrupted by Ivan’s fist smashing into his side, sending him flying.

Alya screamed a very bad word and leapt at Ivan, while Adrien stared in fury and outrage at Ivan, who was watching Nino sail through the air with something like regret.

There was a crash, and a horrible ripping sound, but Adrien’s eyes were on Ivan as he launched himself forwards, fingers curled into a useless facsimile of claws. Juleka would take care of Nino. He had to stop this.

He ducked under Ivan’s punch and jumped onto the knee directed at his chest with agility that surprised even him, snarling as he drove his fingers into the bright white of Ivan’s eyes, burying them as deep in the sockets as he could. His fingers were searing, and he could almost smell his flesh burning as Ivan screeched tried futilely to dislodge him, but he clung determinedly, trying to get the other eye.

Eventually Ivan’s fist caught him in the ribs, catapulting Adrien into a tree shoulder-first. For a moment he was dazed, trying to take a breath that wouldn’t come, before registering Alya’s voice taunting Ivan away from him. He got back to his feet, a little unsteady, trying to come up with a new angle of attack. His fingers were a raw and violent red, and smelled uncomfortably like a barbecue, but Ivan’s eye was squinted shut, so maybe it was worth it.

He scanned the clearing to get a better idea of how Nino was doing, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest.

A visibly terrified Juleka was crouched passively between Rose, Ali, and Nino, who had evidently lost his concentration, because he was almost completely transformed. His eyes were searing yellow, visible from across the clearing, and his fangs were bared. His shirt had ripped along the spine again, and Adrien could see his hackles were up, but—

“Alya!” Adrien yelled, as he ran closer to his friends. “Hold him off a minute!”

He collapsed to his knees a few feet from Nino, keeping his head bowed and shoulders slumped.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, half to Nino, half to Juleka. “We’re all okay.”

He saw Marinette twitch out the corner of his eye, presumably reacting to his lie, but he didn’t necessarily mean physically okay. It didn’t _have_ to be a lie.

It just sort of was anyway.

“Your tail is tucked, Nino.” said Adrien, “Are you scared? It’s okay.”

Nino growled, keeping his neck hunched defensively. He was still angled towards Juleka, but his eyes were on Adrien.

“It’s okay,” he said again, swallowing. He edged closer. Nino’s growl grew a little louder. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Adrien. You know me. Remember?”

Slowly, he raised his hand, palm down, and carefully avoided eye contact. He took it as a good sign that Nino didn’t immediately rip it off.

“We had a sleep over,” he murmured. “Remember?”

Behind him, there was a loud thud, and Alya’s jeering abruptly went silent. Adrien gritted his teeth, taking a deep breath. He needed to control his fear, or Nino would smell it, and that would just make everything harder.

“Nino, remember? It’s okay.”

He still wasn’t looking at Nino, staring hard at the disturbed leaf litter below his paws instead, so he heard rather than saw Nino’s nose draw closer, sniffing curiously at his proffered fingers.

Adrien relaxed marginally as Nino pressed his muzzle into Adrien’s hand, allowing himself a moment to glance over his shoulder and check on Alya, who was pinned to the forest floor, writhing under Ivan’s foot. He turned away from Nino, poised to leap back into the fray, but froze at Nino’s renewed growling.

“Juleka, you got any ideas?” he asked, swallowing as he made eye contact with Alya, who was beginning to panic.

“I don’t know!” said Juleka, anxiety clear in her voice even if she still didn’t have a scent. “We—I don’t know!”

“Me neither,” said Adrien, one hand on a jumpy werewolf and the other clenched into a fist at his side in frustration. He felt helpless, just sitting here, watching—he felt scared, yes, worried, but mostly angry.

It just wasn’t _fair._ Somebody had to do something. _He_ had to do something.

“Enough,” said Marinette, and her voice was shaking, but when he looked over at her, she was standing tall.

“Marinette?” asked Adrien, holding his breath. She seemed okay—or at least better. Better than he’d seen her since this whole thing started.

He tried to remind himself that this could mean anything, that maybe she was fed up with his moping or something, but he couldn’t really bring himself to consider anything other than the salvation he saw shining in her determined eyes.

“I’ve had it. I’m done,” she said firmly, ironing out the crease in her voice. She dug through her pocket for a moment, and produced a perfect sphere, about the diameter of Adrien’s thumb. He stared at her, mystified, barely managing to catch it when she tossed it to him.

Nino growled a little at the sudden movement, shifting to look at Marinette, who gave him a bright, close-lipped smile.

Adrien looked down at the sphere; he didn’t know enough about geology to say whether it was glass or polished stone, but it was a cloudy green, the color of a forest in sunlight. He looked back to Marinette.

“I don’t have a physical contract drawn up or anything,” she explained, meeting his eyes, “but I figure it’s more about the spirit of the law than the letter, right?”

Adrien looked down at the sphere again, eyes wide. “The—”

“You don’t have to, but like, you were super into it yesterday,” she reminded him, shifting her weight a little, belying her anxiety. “Partners?”

“No!” interrupted Ivan, jolting as if he meant to snatch the sphere away. Alya clung determinedly to his ankle, still pinned beneath his foot.

“Partners,” Adrien breathed, reverently. Almost a prayer.

Instantaneously, the sphere exploded with magic, and he felt… free.

There wasn’t really any other way to describe it—one minute he had limitations, things he could or couldn’t do, and in the next, they were gone.

He could do _anything._

He drew away from Nino, getting his feet underneath him, and _pounced._

He transformed as he sailed through the air, relishing in the absence of his usual apprehension about limited transformations, and as he went he found himself growing larger, and larger, and larger.

When he cannoned headfirst into Ivan’s chest before the twisted version of their friend could so much as flinch, he was the size of a panther, and still growing. As Ivan was sent flying, crashing through several saplings, Adrien turned and scooped his muzzle under Alya, who wheezed out a slightly strangled yelp, and moved her to their friends.

Marinette moved to check on her, fretting over a gash on her arm, and beneath her breathless shock, Alya managed to grin at the pair of them.

Adrien flushed under his fur, scowling in the best attempt he could make at reproach. This wasn’t the time for teasing. He’d stopped growing, but he was now about the size of a horse, and everything looked smaller and more delicate than he was used to.

He was screaming a little bit on the inside.

“Can you help Nino not freak out?” he asked Alya, as he heard Ivan clamber to his feet behind them. “Try not to move too much.”

“Yeah, you could have a broken rib or something,” Marinette agreed fervently.

She straightened from where she’d crouched at Alya’s side, looking at Adrien, and for a moment his pulse jumped nervously. Just because he could do _anything_ didn’t mean he _knew how_ to do it—and he was still an awkward, bumbling fairy child. He’d thought some of the anxiety of potential rejection would dissipate when they signed they’re contract, and yet…

“Ready?” she asked, smiling at him. He smiled back. He was overthinking it.

“Ready,” he answered.

She grabbed a splintered piece of wood from the ground, clenching one fist tight around it, and it pulsed bright red. Marinette jumped a little, and Adrien had to remind himself that most humans had never seen the color of their magic before—and then she turned to him expectantly. He stooped so that she could clamber onto his back, shifted his claws for better purchase on the forest floor, and wheeled back to face Ivan.

Somehow, he knew they were on the same page. He wasn’t sure if it was the contract cluing them in, some unspoken communication he wasn’t consciously aware of, or great minds simply thinking alike—but he knew.

As Ivan barreled forward, Adrien squared his shoulders and _yowled._

He bucked like a bronco, hurling Marinette into the air, straight over Ivan, and turned the movement into a forward rush, rearing and locking his claws (now more talons than anything) between the fingers of Ivan’s left hand, and around his right wrist. Ivan’s fist remained determinedly closed around the mysterious purple object.

They weren’t evenly matched in strength, even now that they were roughly the same size. It felt rather like trying to wrestle a boulder into submission—but Adrien had magic on his side, and for once in his life, he could use it.

Power poured off of him in waves, a physical force pushing Ivan back, away from their friends.

“I will not be beaten!” Ivan shouted, digging his heels into the soil behind him. “I will have my victory if I have to step over your corpse to get it, cat!”

“That’s what _you_ want,” said Adrien, “beating Chloé, right? How about Piseóg?”

Ivan’s eye (the one that wasn’t screwed shut) flashed bright purple, for just an instant.

“He wants what was stolen returned,” said Ivan. “He wants change. He wants _justice._ Neither of us will be denied our due. _”_

“Is this all he can manage?” asked Adrien, lips curling back over his fangs. “Is this the best he can make of Nooroo’s power? Twisting children to his whims? A superstition? A curse?”

“It’s _my_ power now,” spat Ivan.

“You’re flying on borrowed wings,” said Adrien, shaking his head. “Ivan, you know this. You just took down one of these things yesterday. You _know.”_

“I was wrong,” said Ivan, glowering at him.

“You were right,” said Marinette, plucking the purple object from his fist with deft fingers. She was hanging upside down, knees curled around the impromptu broom she’d created from the fragment of a tree, swinging just outside Ivan’s field of vision. She clambered back onto it a little gracelessly, the object—a bright purple dodgeball—tucked under one arm.

“No!” roared Ivan, as Marinette curled her fingers and red claws of magic slid along them, ripping into the ball.

He dropped like a stone (somewhat literally) and Adrien was almost sent flying as the pressure he’d been applying suddenly had nowhere to go. He staggered a little as he landed, half-sprawled on Ivan’s chest, and looked up to check on Marinette, who was drifting closer, holding the deflated dodgeball away from her body, like it might bite.

As he watched, a butterfly drifted from the torn rubber. Marinette stiffened, but Adrien leapt instinctively, slamming it down onto the ground with a swipe of a paw.

“What is it?” she asked nervously, landing beside him.

“I think it’s… a magic butterfly?”

For a moment, Marinette was silent. When he looked back at her to see why, she was staring at him. He tilted his head in silent question, but she wasn’t looking at his face.

“Hey, uh, Adrien? What’s that symbol on your chest?” she asked after a moment.

“Huh? Oh, my white spot? It’s sort of shaped like a magatama, but it’s not really a symbol. It’s just how my fur is. Why?”

“It’s on this.” She held up the dodgeball, and there it was—a white magatama set against the purple.

“What—” Adrien started, but he didn’t really know how to finish that question. “Was it—is he after me specifically? Is this like a ‘call your shot’ thing?”

“I don’t know,” said Marinette, “you’re the fairy!”

“You’re the smart one!”

“You’re the—”

“Ali?” groaned a tiny voice behind them, and they both turned, bickering forgotten. Rose was stirring.

Adrien lifted his paw to check the butterfly.

Which was gone.

Adrien sighed heavily.  

He moved instead to stand beside his friends, settling next to Alya and Nino. Nino was still trembling, but his eyes were clear and he seemed lucid, pressed against Alya’s side with her arm slung across his back.

“Ali’s unconscious,” murmured Juleka, supporting Rose’s head in her lap. She brushed a strand of hair from Rose’s eyes with an idle hand, still taking advantage of having a tangible form.

“What?” gasped Rose, struggling into a sitting position. “Where—” She turned, answering her question before she could finish asking it, and all but pounced on Ali, lying supine on the forest floor.

“I think he’s mostly okay,” Juleka said uncertainly. “His arm was kind of messed up, and he hit his head, but his vitals are good.”

Rose hummed carefully as she lifted Ali’s arm, bleeding sluggishly from a gash along the side of his elbow. A glow of pink magic wreathed her hands, and the wound closed. “His healing should take care of most of it, but I’d like to keep his blood inside his body,” she sighed. “What happened?”

“We were doing uh, pretty well, I think,” said Juleka. “He just got the drop on us there. The others just beat him a minute ago, you haven’t been out all that long.”

“Are the others okay…?” asked Rose, turning to them with obvious concern. “I’ve got some experience with healing magic, and…”

She trailed off as she looked at them, eyes widening.

Adrien looked down at himself, and sideways at his friends. Yeah, they were in kind of rough shape and two of them had transformed, but it wasn’t that bad, was it?

“You signed a contract?” squealed Rose, clapping her hands excitedly in front of her face.

“Um,” said Adrien, suddenly acutely conscious of everyone staring at him and Marinette. “Maybe?”

“How did you know?” asked Marinette. He chanced a peek at her, and he felt a little better seeing that she was blushing at least as much as he was.

“Your magic feels different!” said Rose. She got to her feet and approached, obviously delighted, and stooped to attend Alya’s wounds first.

“It does?” asked Adrien in surprise.

“Well, I guess it’s more like it’s behaving differently. Although should you two really be using so much power after a fight like that?”

“What do you mean?” asked Marinette, frowning.

Rose blinked at her. “Um—you’re sort of… radiating magic, right now. Adrien’s magic.”

“What?” asked Adrien, a little alarmed as he did a quick assessment and—yeah, she was. Uh oh. “Marinette, you’ve gotta adjust your output!”

“What does that mean?” she asked a little frantically.

“The aos sídhe give off passive magic,” Rose explained. “Since we witches can only store so much of it at a time, you’re sort of—overflowing.”

“So how do I stop it?!”

“Just stop emitting magic!” said Adrien.

“No, no—stop taking in new magic,” said Rose, waving her hands. “If you hold it in I think you might explode?”

“I… am I doing it?”

“No.”

Marinette cursed. “What happens if I can’t stop it?”

“Nothing… _too_ bad,” said Rose, making a face.

“Speak for yourself!” Adrien protested. He was beginning to feel a little light-headed.

“What?” asked Marinette. “What is it?”

He could feel her wildly adjusting her input and output levels, too fast for him to tell her when she was getting closer.

“He’ll faint,” said Juleka. She sounded more sympathetic than amused, but Adrien didn’t want to hear that right now.

“Can you at least shrink him back down? Maybe that’d help,” Alya suggested.

“How would that help?” asked Marinette.

“Less surface area?” Alya shrugged. “I dunno. You’re the witch.”

“I’ve never had a familiar before!”

“Okay, well I have, so trust me—breathe, Marinette, it’s okay,” said Rose, very reassuringly. Adrien’s vision was beginning to swim.

“Oh, no,” he said, blinking. “Somebody—somebody get me some juice or something.”

“There!” said Rose, waving her arms in front of Marinette to stop her from whatever experiment she’d been in the middle of. “Hold it right there!”

“Is—did I do it? Are you okay?”

“No, it’s cool,” slurred Adrien. “That’s perfect. Let’s go cap’ure the flag.”

He started walking towards the enemy line, but the ground jumped up at his face all of a sudden? That wasn’t supposed to happen, probably.

“Adrien!” yelped several voices, but he was beyond hearing them. He just needed a minute to lie down. He had it under control.

Everything was totally cool.  

 

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

 

Adrien dreamed.

He dreamed and it wasn't like his last dream, its stark reality, the feeling of his body moving without his input or control. Things were appropriately hazy around the edges, and he was initially disoriented.

It was a place he'd never been before, a sídhe with high ceilings and corbelled edges, full of magic so choppy he felt a bit seasick. In the exact center of the sídhe, Tikki was consoling a woman with bells in her long blonde hair, who was sobbing so fiercely it was a wonder she could still breathe.

Adrien initially assumed she was the source of the chaos, but he turned around and discovered a second stranger, a tall man with a shock of hair the color of freshly fallen snow, dressed all in black save for a circle of white on the front of his shirt.

The man didn't acknowledge him, but Adrien was certain in the way only dreams allow that he knew Adrien was there.

“You have to get out,” said Tikki, over the piteous keening of the woman in her arms. “The geas—”

“I'm going,” said the man, and Adrien's back went ramrod straight. He knew that voice. “I just—I couldn't—I _can't_ just—“

“I know,” Tikki said heavily. “I know, Plagg, but you have to go. They're coming. We're almost out of time.”

“I'll protect you,” Plagg told both of them, one hand on a sword Adrien had never seen before, the other over the spot on his chest. His eyes flashed with magic. “I'll guard the sídhe, I'll—”

“Gabriel,” choked the woman between her sobs, “get Gabriel, Plagg. Please.”

“I—” said Plagg, looking between Tikki and the woman with a lost expression. “I can't—”

“Go,” said Tikki. She smiled at him, a trace of sadness in it, like it hurt them all to send him away, “ _I_ will protect her. Find Gabriel. Consider it an order.”

Plagg smiled back, but it was tight and uncomfortable, alien to Adrien even beyond this unfamiliar face.

“I'll find him,” promised Plagg, and the sídhe vanished in a flash of green that slowly paled to the color of freshly fallen snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "An sluagh sidhe so i nEamhuin  
> do-chiú lán do lúithghreadhaibh?  
> is lán sciath is derg ndatha  
> gach lerg fa iath Fhionnmhacha."
> 
> I wasn't going to translate this initially but it felt mean not to (and if you understand any of the Lore or symbolism, more power to you tbh) so: 
> 
> "Is this a fairy host in Eamhain Mhacha?  
> A spectacle full of goose sinew  
> in full armor, colored red  
> on every hillside surrounding Fair Macha."
> 
> oh, and put in your theories now if ya have 'em, folks. "i told you so" privileges will only be awarded if you actually tells us so


	14. The Familiar and the Unfamiliar

When he woke up, Adrien wasn’t entirely sure where he was.

He was lying in a fairly uncomfortable bed, wrapped in sheets of a synthetic material he had no name for. It was a little jarring after the rustic (if unfamiliar) setting of his dream, and he tried to sit up with a faint frown.

He was stopped by a weight on his chest, and opened his eyes to see Plagg sprawled across him.

“Plagg,” he grumbled, about to chastise his guardian, when he looked around and realized where they were. “Are we in the nurse’s office?”

“We are indeed!” said a cheerful voice beside him, and Adrien turned to see Ali in the cot next to his, ice packs covering about half of his head. Rose was sitting at the foot of the bed, and Juleka hovered beside her, intangible once again. “I do apologize. I thought he was subdued, and I let my guard down. I’ll try to be more cautious in the future.”

“ _I_ apologize!” said Marinette. Adrien jumped a little, looking the other direction to find her sitting in a chair beside him, wringing her hands. Behind her, Alya was being examined by the nurse, and Otis was looking on with evident concern.

“What are _you_ sorry for?” asked Adrien, confused.

“Making you faint!” said Marinette, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I was doing it and then I got kind of freaked out while you guys were trying to tell me how to stop, and I sort of made it worse, and—”

“Marinette,” he interrupted, smiling, “it’s okay! I’m fine. I should’ve warned you.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” said Marinette.

“You’re right,” said Plagg. Adrien blinked down at him, surprised. “He _should_ have been able to control his own magic in the first place. It’s hardly your fault you inherited his bad habits along with this little deal. We just need to teach you two some basics, is all.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” asked Adrien suspiciously.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

“I’m still sorry,” said Marinette.

“For taking him on as your familiar? You should be,” said Plagg, grinning.

“Okay, rude,” said Adrien, rolling his eyes. “Where’s Nino? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” said Marinette, gesturing to something he couldn’t see past his bed. He leaned forward and discovered Nino, still in wolf form, curled up on what appeared to be dog couch and fast asleep. “He’s pretty exhausted, but he’ll be alright once he naps up. He was really worried about you and Alya, though.”

“For no good reason!” said Alya, grimacing as the nurse performed some sort of healing charm on her ribs.

“You were almost crushed by a corrupted classmate,” said Otis, frowning deeply. “If your mother—”

“I’m _fine!_ ” groaned Alya. “I walked out on my own and everything, which is already better than Sergeant Tibbs and the Colonel over there.”

“What?” asked Juleka.

“Cat and dog,” said Alya, waving a vague hand at the pair of them. “101 Dalmatians.”

“I’m starting to think you watch too many cartoons,” said Adrien.

“Do you have any idea how often I babysit,” asked Alya, so flatly that it didn’t even sound like a question.

“Apparently not enough,” said Otis. “You’re grounded.”

“I’m already grounded for yesterday!” she protested.

“Double grounded.”

“That’s not even a thing!” said Alya. She hesitated. “Is it?”

“It is now.”

“Am I grounded?” asked Adrien, looking down at Plagg.

“Eh. You lived. ‘Sides, what with the contract and all I feel more like throwing you a party.”

“Please god do not throw me a party.”

“Oh, it’s happening. ‘Baby’s First Legal Document’. We’ll grab a cake and a lawyer on the way home, get everything drawn up.”

“Does it matter that we don’t have anything written down?” Marinette asked nervously.

Plagg shrugged. “Not really. Gives you some more wiggle room I guess, but since you’re not one of the aos sídhe you don’t have to be very particular about wording as it is. The important thing is that you’re both committed to it, forever. Magical contracts far predate actual contracts, you know. In the old days nobody wrote ‘em down.”

“Weren’t the old days sort of a lawless hellscape?” asked Adrien, raising an eyebrow.

“Heh, yeah. Good old fashioned anarchy, I tell ya.”

“Plagg, please don’t give them any ideas,” said Otis, with a world-weary sigh.

Alya jolted upright in her seat. “You know him too? Catdad, what the f—”

“I know a lot of people!” said Plagg. “I’m very old and much beloved by citizens of all worlds. What can I say? I’m a creature of mystery and intrigue. No one knows just what I’m up to.”

“He’s Milo’s uncle,” said Otis flatly.

“Spoilsport,” said Plagg.

“Who’s Milo?” asked Adrien, blinking.

“Sharp-tooth’s boy, Míol. He’s Otis’s familiar. Don’t ask me why they call him that.”

“Your dad’s familiar is a cat sídhe?” Adrien asked Alya indignantly. “No wonder you know how I work!”

She held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, in my defense, I have only used that knowledge for good.”

“It’s like having a second Plagg,” groaned Adrien. “Is there anything else? Any other huge secrets you’re keeping about your life?”

Alya frowned, evidently in concentration. “I… _think_ that’s it?”

“There’s only room for one obfuscating frustration in this nurse’s office,” said Plagg smugly. “I’ve got _loads_ more secrets. Clearly I am the superior annoyance.”

“ _That_ was never up for debate,” said Adrien darkly.

“Marinette, are you sure you don’t want to call your parents?” asked Otis, frowning.

“Yes M. Césaire,” said Marinette, dipping her head respectfully. “I’m heading home now that Adrien’s awake. I didn’t want to bother them if there was nothing they could do.”

“They could come pick you up,” said Alya.

“They could _try,”_ said Marinette pointedly. “It’s alright now anyway, right? I’m not hurt, Adrien’s awake, and nobody had to leave work.”

“ _I_ did,” said Plagg. “I was in the middle of a very important nap.”

“We should… uh…. Should we go with you?” Adrien asked awkwardly, gesturing to Plagg, who was still sprawled across him.

“I mean, you can?” said Marinette, looking confused.

“To um, to tell them about the… contract.”

Marinette went as red as he felt, staring determinedly at the floor. “Yeah, okay. That’s probably a good idea.”

“God, why are you two still being so weird about this?” asked Alya, making a face at them. “Rose and Ali are totally chill.”

The witch and familiar looked up at the sound of their names from where their foreheads had been pressed together in apparent meditation, beaming at her.

“We’re all different,” said Ali. “Why, I never even considered a contract until I met Rose, whereas these two were actively ‘on the market,’ so to speak. I imagine it changes how one feels about the whole affair.”

“I never really had a follow-up plan, if we’re being real,” admitted Adrien. “I sorta figured I’d do whatever my witch felt like.”

“I always did tell you to relax about signing,” sighed Plagg. “Now we’ve got to find you something to _do_ with your life.”

“Lives,” said Alya, holding up nine fingers.

“Your witch feels like going home and trying to explain this mess to her parents,” said Marinette, getting to her feet. “Are you alright to walk?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Adrien, nodding resolutely and trying to wriggle out from under Plagg.

“Nurse, can we get some juice for the road?” asked Plagg. The nurse obliged with a wide smile. “Thank you. Your harvest will be bountiful this year.”

“People in Paris don’t have harvests, Plagg,” said Adrien, stabbing the straw into his juice box as his guardian finally released him, stretching languidly on the bed at his side.

“I do have a lovely little basil plant,” said the nurse, still smiling.

“I stand corrected,” said Adrien, standing as he announced it. “And yes, that was a pun.”

“I want a magic divorce,” said Marinette.

“I’ve only been your familiar for—uh—how long was I out?”

“About twenty minutes,” said Plagg, jumping heavily into his arms. Adrien squeaked as he tried not to drop his juice.

The walk to Marinette’s house was quiet, but Adrien was brimming with questions and excitements. For once, his magic had no adverse effects on the nearby technology. Streetlamps retained their bulbs, car alarms went untriggered, stoplights functioned as intended—it was enough to make him downright smug.

“So I’m not blowing things up on account of Marinette’s absorbing my extra output?” he asked Plagg, polishing off his juice box with a loud slurp.

“Kind of,” said Plagg. “It’s more like you’re running it through her as a filter. All of her outputs are naturally moderated by her hún soul, remember? Yours is still erratic, it just can’t get at anything without going through her first.”

“Will she be okay?” asked Adrien, nervously meeting Marinette’s eyes—but his witch seemed unconcerned.

“She’ll be fine,” said Plagg, rolling his eyes. “She won’t even notice she’s doing it. It’s just a function of her soul, kid, same as your magic production in the first place.”

“Okay,” said Adrien, a little mollified. They reached the bakery as he said it, and Marinette opened the door a little sheepishly.

“Oh, sweetheart!” said Tom brightly. “You’re home early!”

“Yyyyeah, uh—”

“And hello there, Adrien! Is that cat as magical as he smells?”

“Name’s Plagg,” said Plagg, smirking. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Tim.”

“Oh,” said Tom. Abruptly he looked very nervous. “Um. It’s—it’s Tom, actually. Maybe I should call Sabine?”

“That might be for the best,” said Plagg.

“I heard the bell,” said Sabine, emerging from the back of the shop, which Adrien seemed to remember being her potion-selling station. “Why is Plagg here? Is everything alright?”

“Yes!” Marinette said quickly. “Everything is totally fine, nobody is even hurt. Um, permanently.”

“Not _again,”_ groaned Tom. “Marinette, you were supposed to call us!”

“There wasn’t any time!” she insisted. “And anyway, that’s not important right now.”

“How is it not important that our only daughter has been at the heart of two consecutive attacks on her school?” asked Sabine.

“Okay, I mean, sure, but—it’s not the _most_ important thing right now?”

“Then what is?” asked Tom. Both he and Sabine looked braced for terrible news, frowning and standing side by side as if for support.

“We may have… signed a contract?” said Marinette, wincing as she did.

Her parents stared between Marinette and Adrien for a long, painful moment.

“Ha!” said Sabine, breaking out into a wide grin. “Three days. Pay up.”

Adrien blinked, watching as Tom grumbled and dug into his pockets for a handful of coins.

“You couldn’t have waited until Monday?” he asked his daughter morosely, counting out five euros.

“You _bet on it?”_ Marinette demanded, the picture of indignation.

“Of course we did sweetheart,” said Sabine, accepting her winnings. “It really was only a matter of time.”

“And you bet it would take less than a week?” asked Plagg, nearly as smug as Sabine.

“She also bet that there would be mortal peril involved,” said Tom. “But the price for that is I have to clean the whole shop.”

“Assuming of course that there was mortal peril,” said Sabine, looking at Marinette expectantly.

“Only a _little,”_ she stressed, holding two fingers about an inch apart. “We super handled it. Adrien didn’t even pass out until after.”

“We’ve fixed that,” he put in hurriedly. “I won’t just—I don’t just pass out at random. Anymore. Um.”

“Well, welcome to the family, son,” said Tom, grinning at him. “Glad to have another familiar around.”

“You’re a familiar too, sir?” Adrien asked eagerly.

“Sabine’s, as a matter of fact,” said Tom, chuckling.

Adrien gaped at them, eyes wide. A witch and familiar who were married? Who had a child? Was that like, allowed?

“I’m—I might have some questions for you, then,” he managed after a moment. “About familiar stuff. I don’t think Plagg knows.”

“I know everything,” said Plagg.

“What’s my husband’s name?” asked Sabine, raising an eyebrow.

“Easy. Tim.”

“Still Tom,” said Tom.

“Close enough,” said Plagg, waving a dismissive paw. “Anyway, I was wondering if we could borrow your offspring for a bit. Get these two trained up. Or at least, trained to where they won’t knock each other out.”

“I _said_ I was sorry,” said Marinette, flushing.

“So long as she’s safe,” said Tom, though he sounded uncertain.

Sabine was more confident. “And so long as you keep her from making any deals or getting turned into a toad or something. I don’t have time to go on another quest.”

“Please.” Plagg rolled his eyes. “Adrien’s bound to help her, and I’m bound to help Adrien. I may be unconventional, but my magic isn’t. She won’t come to any lasting harm under our care or tutelage.”

“Our?” Tom echoed nervously.

“Tikki is coming too.”

“Oh, good,” said Sabine, visibly relaxing. “Please do give her my greetings.”

“And in return?” challenged Plagg—but Sabine was already fishing a cheese danish from the display. He accepted it with a delighted purr, wriggling in Adrien’s arms so he could hold it steady. Adrien sighed.

“Do you need anything, or are you ready to go?” he asked Marinette, who jumped a little in response.

“Oh. Um. I guess I’m ready?” she said, frowning. “Yeah. Okay. I’m ready!”

Adrien grinned, and obligingly cast the transportation magic around them.

 “Tikki, you here?” Plagg called immediately, wriggling free of Adrien’s arms.

“I’m everywhere,” said Tikki, rolling her eyes. She was sprawled across the couch, working on a little piece of embroidery, but sat up as they got oriented, laying it aside.

“Why not use magic?” Adrien asked, gesturing at her embroidery hoop. She smiled.

“It’s meant to be soothing, or so I’m told. Perhaps it’s a human thing, as I can’t seem to be soothed by stabbing myself repeatedly,” she explained.

“Um,” said Marinette. “Have you been using a thimble?”

“A what?” asked Tikki, looking over at her. She blinked. “Marinette?”

“Yyyes?” Marinette said warily, raising her arms a little, as if in defense.

“She’s my witch!” boasted Adrien, flopping onto the couch next to Tikki with a wide grin. “Isn’t she great?”

“She’s wonderful,” said Tikki, eyes shining. “I’m so proud of you!”

He basked in the praise, leaning into the embrace she wrapped him in.

“Thanks,” said Marinette, moving a little closer. She’d dropped her arms, but she still looked nervous. “But um, how did you know my name?”

“Same way I did,” said Plagg, smugly.

Adrien stiffened.

“You…?” Marinette began, gaping at Tikki, who released Adrien and smiled sheepishly in return.

“I may have granted you a boon,” said Tikki. “Empathy is very important!”

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Adrien demanded indignantly. “Plagg is one thing, but you too? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to bias you!” said Tikki, trying to hug him again. He huffed dramatically and resisted for a moment on principal, until she started to withdraw and he relented. “I suppose I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“Plagg didn’t care about biasing us,” grumbled Adrien.

“I did too!” argued Plagg. “I just knew you wouldn’t care if I’d given her a boon. You think anyone I like is suspicious at best.”

“Is there anything _else_ that would bias me?” pouted Adrien. “Any other secrets I’m ready to be privy to?” Marinette giggled, taking a seat on one of the stools across from him and Tikki.

“Well,” said Tikki, “we actually wanted to answer your questions about familiars. Specifically, whether Plagg is one or not.”

Adrien stopped pouting, swiveling to gape expectantly at Plagg.

“Define ‘familiar’,” drawled Plagg.

Adrien got to his feet. “It’s over. I’m gonna kill you. It’s happening.”

“You’ve gotta catch me first!” said Plagg, cackling as he scrambled up the back of the bench that dominated the room. Adrien growled, transforming, and clambered up after him.

“Um,” said Marinette. “If we define ‘familiar’ as ‘a contract with a human partner’?”

“Then no,” said Tikki, completely ignoring the yowling a foot or so over her head. “As a matter of fact, his contract is with me.”

Adrien, about to reach the top of the bench, lost his hold and tumbled down into Tikki’s arms.

“ _What?”_ he asked, hoarse with shock.

She tickled the tip of his nose with one finger, smiling down at him. “It’s not so surprising, is it? You know how well we work together.”

“Well sure, but—you’re so much _better_ than him,” he protested.

“Adrien, I’m surprised at you! Our contract predates my ascension to the throne, you know—”

“No, no,” said Adrien, shaking his head. “I mean in terms of like, personality. You’re so sweet and helpful, and he’s so… Plagg.”

“Are you not allowed to fraternize with lower classes or something?” asked Marinette, apparently doubtful. “That doesn’t seem to be in line with what people know of fairies.”

“First of all, I’m not lower anything,” huffed Plagg, jumping down from the bench, “I’m the son of a king, I’ll have you know. Second of all, yeah, nobody gives a sh—”

“Plagg!” Tikki scolded, frowning at him. “Not in front of the children.” Plagg snorted, but didn’t attempt to finish his expletive.

“So if you guys have been… if you’ve had a contract my whole life, then… how did I not know?” asked Adrien, still reeling.

“You’re extremely oblivious,” Plagg answered flatly.

“ _And,_ it was easy to defer,” said Tikki. “Plagg could lie or be infuriating, and you know better than to pester me if I say he’d asked me not to talk about it.”

“Yeah, I guess,” grumbled Adrien, sinking further into her arms. She had been like a mother to him, so it stood to reason she’d be close to the nearest thing he had to a father figure. Although he hated to think their relationship might be one solely of duty. “Wait, did… do you only take care of me because of Plagg?”

“Oh, Adrien, of course not,” said Tikki softly, and something in him relaxed. “I really was close with your mother, and I’ve loved you from the moment you were born.”

“I’m still her favorite, though,” Plagg put in immediately. “And not that I don’t _love_ feelings, but oughtn’t we get started on training? I know we’re not exactly pressed for time, but Marinette will get tired eventually, you know.”

“Ah, yes!” said Tikki, getting to her feet with a broad smile. She set Adrien down so he could turn back to his usual form, and ruffled his hair affectionately when he did. “To the meadows?”

“To the meadows,” echoed Plagg, dipping his head to indicate she should lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally this was gonna be one long chapter but frankly it's getting a lil ridiculous so we're going with two chapters instead 
> 
> not much to say about this. uh, Míol is like "beast/animal" or sometimes "bug". almost nobody calls him that, poor guy. Plagg _probably_ knows Tom's real name, but when has he ever missed a chance to be an asshole?


End file.
